


Home arrest with Rammstein

by HanHan_Solo156, NikoNotHere



Series: Rammstein collaborations [4]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: COVID-19, Coffee, Corona Virus - Freeform, Dinner with Rammstein, Flake's POV, Garage gig, Gen, Home gym, Home quarantine, Just pure stupidity, Karaoke, POV First Person, Pandemic - Freeform, Poetry, Richard is a diva, Too much coffee, Unexpected Visitors, extremely stupid jokes, home arrest, household chores
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanHan_Solo156/pseuds/HanHan_Solo156, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: While being confined at home because of the worldwide pandemic, our character gets unexpected visitors from Germany who will make sure there won't be a dull moment in the next 14 days.
Series: Rammstein collaborations [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797532
Comments: 90
Kudos: 66





	1. Special delivery aus Deutschland

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is an unlimited source of creative ideas and this fic got its origins from a post called "home arrest with Rammstein". As I'm a person who always likes to try random stupid ideas, I decided that I will make a story inspired by that discussion thread. I also managed to lure poor little @Nikonothere to this project, so I bet we will have a lot of fun. :D We write chapter by chapter not showing our work before posting, so we'll see how crazy this will get.
> 
> Even though the world is a scary place right now, stay safe and sane everyone - hopefully this little silly story will cheer you up. Remember: no matter what, wir halten zusammen, dear Rammsteiners.

_Corona. COVID-19. Pandemic. Lockdown._ _Martial law -_ words that sound like from a science fiction movie. If somebody would have told me that these things were going to be real in 2020 I would have started to doubt what he had been smoking. 

But I’m not laughing at it anymore: those things have become way too familiar to me, for everyone around the world. Something that was supposed to stay in China, somewhere far away, is now the grim reality - in every corner of the world.

It’s funny how a single microorganism can make us - the triumphant homo sapiens, superior species of technology and science - on their knees. 

Eventually, the lockdown came to my home country as well. I wish I could just lull into a deep sleep, not minding about that deadly disease, but it’s impossible. The theme of March 2020 is Corona - every _freaking_ where.

So, the lockdown is now on. I’ve lost my job, my hobbies and I live alone so I basically have nothing to do. The only light of my life is my cat who is purring on my lap. When I look at him I envy him for a while when he can just concentrate on important things: eating, sleeping getting petted. Repeat.

Sighing, I open the tv for the millionth time today and start flipping various tv channels: mindless reality shows, ads - like somebody would even buy anything on the verge of an economic catastrophe but they are still stubborn to try - celebrity news. _Stare like a zombie, into the tv_ and yes, I feel exactly like that: a zombie, confined at my home.

I close the tv and sigh heavily. _14 days. How in the hell am I going to handle this?_ I wonder that even though I have always hated vloggers, should I start a Youtube channel - but what could I even publish there? Episodes of me watching tv and getting grumpy in my pajamas, eating chips alone at home? Maybe it’s not a good idea in the end - I might regret it later when the situation settles.

A shiver goes down my spine. _Or will it even settle? What if I have to be like this for the rest of my life? Holy hell._

I shake the terrifying thought off and try to concentrate on making myself comfortable. The only question is though, how.

What I don’t know yet is that a surprising solution is on its way as I hear a car approaching my yard. 

_W… what? Who could it be?_

A tiny spark of excitement ignites inside me - a rare thing nowadays - but I try to calm down. _Maybe it’s going to the neighbor. No one’s going to visit me these times unless it’s some official giving new guidelines or something._

Just in case I go to the window and to my utter surprise, a van has stopped to my yard. No one has come out yet. I hold my breath and my stomach does flips.

 _Could it be something dangerous?_ In case, I grab the first thing I can get - a baseball bat that I had taken out for a match that never happened - to my shaking hand.

When I go back to the window I realize that the van has a huge Rammstein logo on it. Now, I have to rub my eyes. _Seriously, are my friends doing a prank on me or what is this?_

I still keep staring at the surreal sight when I see six men coming out and starting to chat with each other casually. 

I froze to my place when I realize who they are. 

_Holy shit._

I still think this is a robbery or a sick joke, so I squeeze the bat even harder in my sweaty hands.

The doorbell rings and at the same time, my cat hides under the bed - he knows there’s something fishy going on here.

I roll myself into a small ball in the darkest possible corner in the kitchen and wonder for a while whether I should just pretend that I’m not at home - but my car in the yard reveals that I’m inside so there’s no escape or excuses. 

_Maybe they’d just go away. Maybe they were supposed to go the neighbor. Maybe they are just look-alikes. Maybe..._

My thoughts are interrupted when the doorbell rings again followed by a knock on the door. “Hello, anyone there?”

 _Shit._ Now I know that I can’t pretend to be invisible anymore, so with slow steps, I proceed to the door and open it while I’m holding my breath.

“What do you want?” I burst out trying to look so intimidating with my baseball bat and pajamas.

“Relax, we are not gonna rob you,” somebody of them says and when I look closely, I am now totally sure that, _yes_ , it is them: six of the Rammstein guys, by my doorway.

I turn completely red and drop the baseball bat when my jaw drops to the ground. “Is this… some kind of prank?” I mumble and rub my eyes, sure that the surreal sight will disappear, but no - there they still are: Till, Paul, Flake, Ollie, Richard and Schneider, all flesh and blood. On my freaking doorway. During Corona quarantine. 

I don’t understand anything anymore.

Till has a thin notebook in his hands and he clears his throat. “Umm, guten Morgen, isn’t it a beautiful weather today?” he asks and immediately looks like he realizes even it himself that he is a lousy small talker - shyly, he moves his gaze from my confused eyes to the sign on my door, pretending that the house number is the most thrilling thing in this universe right now. “Is this 329?”

“Y-yes.”

“Wunderbar!” Till exclaims and claps his hands a bit too enthusiastically. “Yeah, we are in... the right place, it seems.”

I still can’t say anything - I just keep staring when Till starts talking again: “So, as we all know, the situation with COVID-19 has escalated during recent days, resulting in more and more people being arrested at their homes. Social distancing has been said to be an efficient way of preventing contamination.

But as well as being concerned about the virus itself, WHO has now been giving new guidelines for maintaining people’s mental health.” At this point, he raises his head from the booklet and looks at me straight in the eyes. The others remain silent, scrutinizing my reactions and grinning like idiots - they have gotten me off-guard. Thank God that I at least bothered to put my pajamas this morning - otherwise, I would have greeted them with my underwear only.

“We all know that social interactions are essential for people staying healthy during these difficult times and even though social distancing is now recommended, WHO has granted us,” Till announced ceremonially and looks at all of his bandmates around him, “permission to choose one of our fans with whom we are going to spend the next 14 days or even more if that’s the case.”

 _What did I just hear?_ “I-I still don’t understand…”

Paul flashes a smirk and says: “It means that we are now going to stay at your place for the next 14 days, as you are the lucky one who has been chosen from the official fanclub. Congratulations!” He raises his hands and bounces, looking like a little kid at Christmas. “Isn’t it exciting! How much fun we’re gonna have together! I have always wanted to know our fans personally!”

“And yes, we all have been tested that we don’t have Corona in case you are concerned,” Flake adds nonchalantly behind his shorter bandmate. The keyboard player has an expression I can’t read: he looks like he’s either bored or totally lost.

Before I even notice it, Paul is attempting to hug me, but is stopped by Flake, who whispers: “Remember to keep the distance…”

“Oh yeah, sorry, sorry…” Paul says slightly embarrassed and looks at a cat statue on my porch.

I scratch my head - the atmosphere surely is awkward and the guys by my door are seemingly waiting for me to do something. Of course, I can’t kick them out and company in this situation is more than welcome - and hell, if _I’m_ chosen randomly from the fanclub to have my favorite band with me for 14 days, let’s do it.

“Okay, come on in,” I say and all six of them rush into my small home. My poor cat is still hiding under the bed, surprised to see this much of action out of a sudden. 

I immediately learn that these six German gentlemen are loud and enthusiastic about everything - they keep exclaiming and commenting on my belongings and furniture. In fact, when I granted them permission to enter my place, they are acting like they are now owning it. I can’t be sure what they are doing - they are so quickly scattered around taking my belongings to their hands and wiping the dust from the surfaces that it’s impossible to keep up. 

Feeling like I might faint soon I go to the living room about to sit on the sofa, but I can’t: it’s full of Kruspe now. The guitarist - also infamously called “diva” and now I have just learned, why - has taken the place for only himself even though the sofa could easily fit four people. 

Richard lights up a cigarette - of course, as he and Nicotiana are intrinsic - looking like he is in his throne, looking down at his kingdom. Still, I can’t react anyhow - I just keep staring at the guitarist while he is sucking his precious roll - in _my_ freaking living room.

“Reesh, remember that we are guests here. Stop being so flippant and make some space,” Ollie interrupts behind me. “And did you even ask the owner of the house a permit to smoke inside?”

Richard flashes a sweet smile and tilts his head. I can’t help but gulp and hope that no one hears it. 

“Sorry, can I smoke inside?” he asks with a voice so innocent that I already know that I can’t say no even though I hate the smell of cigarettes.

“Well… umm....” 

“Excellent,” Richard states, thinking that my mumbling is an agreement. He winks at me slyly. “Your life just got more interesting: I bet you will be entertained by us for two weeks,” he says and sucks in a good amount of his nicotine and then lets out a cloud of smoke. I’m sure that after these 14 days all of our lungs will be ruined even if we manage to avoid the virus itself.

Ollie is still standing behind my back, his arms crossed. “Just stop your showing off and make some space for us, _please_.”

Richard grunts and hesitantly makes a narrow corner for me and Ollie. I sit in between them, our sides touching. I don’t dare to meet either of their eyes.

“Just say if we annoy you, ok?” the bassist asks.

I simply nod and realize that now when I have visitors at my home maybe I should act like a real host. “Umm, do you guys want a drink or… something?”

“No need to worry, I’m on it already!” Paul exclaims from the kitchen, followed by a huge clang and “whoops” - not so promising.

I jump up right away and proceed to the kitchen where another surprise is welcoming me: Paul has opened all my cupboards, looking for something - and yes, it’s a chaos. _Oh well, at least something to keep me busy during the following days while cleaning up after these six little German kindergarteners..._

“You could have asked me before…” I say while I’m looking around the cramped kitchen, “before you… dug out all my kitchenware.”

“Aa, yeah I was just wondering…” Paul starts and scratches his head, “where is your coffee?”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

Paul stops only inches away from my face and looks like he has just seen a ghost. “What… what did you just say?”

“I don’t drink coffee so I don’t have it,” I repeat. Now I can see how Paul’s face is slowly starting to resemble a cooked lobster - only the steam coming from his ears is missing.

“B-but…” he mumbles and puts his hands on his cheeks. “This is terrible! How can you think we’d survive two weeks without coffee! That’s a nightmare! This is worse than any pandemic ever!”

I still try to save the situation. “If you really need your caffeine I have some black tea and maté…”

“IT’S NOT THE SAME THING!” he exclaims and then I remember that yeah, maybe in some interview it has been revealed that Paul is the most coffee addict of them all - of course, I should have remembered it.

I raise my hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay, maybe the neighbor has some coffee if it’s impossible for you to live without it. You could go ask her politely. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone so--”

Before I have even finished Paul is on his way already. He slams the door demonstratively and in no time he has disappeared as quickly as he arrived. _Okay, I already managed to make him upset, not a good start..._

Then, I freeze for a second when I remember that the old granny in my neighbor doesn’t even speak English or German. _Shit._

Totally confused, I wonder for a while should I follow Paul but when I quickly glance at the bedroom I see something ominous: Flake is kneeling down next to my bed, trying to lure my poor cat out while Till is opening my wardrobe. My clothes are scattered all around.

I step into the room and ignore Flake, my gaze fixed on Till’s back. “What are you doing?” I ask, but the singer still continues his search, mumbling something vague by himself. 

I raise my voice when he ignored me: “Till, what are you doing?”

Now, he seems to be snapped out of his thoughts. “They must be somewhere…”

“What?”

Till turns around and smirks at me. “Your sex toys.”

“My… sex toys?” I can’t believe what I just heard. “Sex... toys?” I repeat, wondering what the hell the singer has in his mind now.

“ _Yes_ , everyone has sex toys and I desperately need to know where have you hidden them…” Till says and turns around again, digging up my wardrobe further. He isn’t showing any kind of respect - even my panties and bra are thrown everywhere. One pair of cool Batman panties land on Flake’s head, but he doesn’t seem to care as he is so busy interacting with my cat with his own treats which only God knows what they are.

_This is going too far now._

“I DON’T HAVE ANY FREAKING SEX TOYS SO CAN YOU JUST PLEASE STOP AND LET MY UNDERWEAR BE!” I shout and both Till and Flake stop right away what they are doing. They look at me, horrified - like two kids who had been busted from finding their dad’s porno magazine collection. “SHOW SOME RESPECT, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” 

After my explosion, they leave me alone and I close the door. I regret my angry outburst, but as the recent days have been stressful enough already, I couldn’t help it. 

Sighing, I lay on my bed and bury my face in my hands. _Where the hell am I going to end up with these guys… this is so surreal… I’m surrounded by kindergarten kids… for 14 days..._

Not knowing whether I should laugh or cry, I fall into a restless nap.

After 45 minutes or so, I hear a knock on the door and I answer while still half asleep: “Come in, I guess.”

I open my eyes and Till and Schneider are in front of me. “What do you want?” I ask, voice raspy from the sleep still. _How long did I even sleep? They look worried, have they already set something on fire?_ At that moment, I realize that my hazard insurance is not valid anymore, so I hope they will pay if my house is now wrecked. I sniff, but at least it doesn’t smell like smoke here.

Schneider pokes Till with his elbow. The singer looks at the floor with timid eyes. “Yeah, look, I’m… sorry,” he starts and clears his throat. “I’m sorry for messing around in your bedroom without permission. I’ll clean it up, I promise. I just… got too excited.”

I stand up from the bed, about to say something, but Till is already starting to fold my clothes back to the wardrobe. The way how he handles my clothes, so gently now, is surreal. I’m sure I’m still napping.

Schneider takes a step closer to me and clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m sorry for the mess we already managed to create, but to be honest, we have been so bored recently that this is like a vacation to us. We don’t mean any harm.”

“Yeah, no problem.. I’m just… you know, so tired of all of this Corona shit. My anger wasn’t meant for any of you guys, Till just happened to be near. I’m frustrated about the situation in general.”

The drummer nods and flashes a smile so sweet that I know all the anger in me has melted away now. “It’s fine, I can feel you.” Schneider puts his hand on my shoulder and I shiver slightly - we both forget the guidelines about social distancing. “But maybe we should concentrate on how we’d like to spend our time together now when we are stuck in here and can’t escape each other.” He looks oddly sly when he continues: “We might have something in our minds, so you just relax here and let us do the job.”

“Has Paul come back already?” I ask, my eyes fixed on Till cleaning up my wardrobe. He is taking his time to put everything in perfect order. What a touching sight.

“Yes.”

I turn to look at Schneider who is still standing close to me, but at least he has withdrawn his hand from my shoulder. “Did he get his coffee?”

“Well, he said that he had some interesting discussions with your neighbor through the window and got a pack of something which loosely resembles coffee,” Schneider answers and shrugs his shoulders. “But he volunteered to taste it before anyone else in case its poisoned sawdust or something. You can never know.”

A sigh of relief escapes from my mouth: Paul got something to shut down his lust for caffeine - at least, a Placebo effect in case the neighbor wanted to prank and gave the poor guitarist only sawdust. “Okay, that’s good to hear. I’ll continue resting so let me know when you are ready.”

After a good amount of time, me dozing on and off, Till is done with my clothes. Still one more time he bows and apologizes me, looking like a lost teddy bear - and honestly, I can’t even be mad at him, he’s too cute. Then, Schneider calls me to the kitchen.

I don’t know anymore what I should expect so I just take a deep breath and slowly proceed to my own freaking kitchen that feels so unfamiliar right now. When I’m there, I have to rub my eyes: in front of me, on the table, there’s a cliché candle and a bouquet of red roses. Mellow jazzy music is playing in the background when the lights have been dimmed. It’s like a setting from a romantic movie. I can only make a guess whose idea this was in the first place. 

“W-what is this?” I mumble and start getting emotional - I can’t come up with any reasons why I would deserve this kind of sweetness.

Paul and Richard share a meaningful look and turn to look at me. “Well, we thought that now while we interrupted your peace and messed around in your house, we might owe you something nice,” Paul says and takes a chair, gesturing me to sit down. All the guys are standing around me silently and I feel super uncomfortable, yet excited.

And it’s not getting any easier to be when Richard pours wine to my glass. I glance at the etiquette on the bottle and it looks ridiculously pricey - I could have never afforded that kind of luxury myself. 

The other guys are taking something from the oven, preparing the dinner - just for me, it seems. “Umm, aren’t you gonna eat yourself?” I ask and glance around, awkwardly sipping from my glass.

Paul smirks to me. “Don’t you worry about us now.” 

I keep sitting down when the guys are busy serving me dinner - Richard even boasts that he and Paul have made me a _special_ dessert that will blow my mind.

After a lot of hassle they all finally sit down with me and to be honest, I’m not sure how many glasses of wine I have drunken already when they were busy preparing the food. In my head it starts to feel pleasantly warm.

The dinner looks tempting: it is some German traditional dish I can’t pronounce but looks like it has potatoes and meat - some kind of stew.

Now together we raise our glasses. My little dining table can’t fit everyone properly, but Ollie assured that it’s okay for him to sit on the floor on a cushion, originally meant for my cat - who is still under the bed. 

Till clears his throat and holds a minimalistic speech: “So, thank you for welcoming us to your home and even though the situation is what it is now, let these 14 days be pleasant and umm… inspirational for all of us.

Prost!”

When I put the first forkful of the food in my mouth, I almost let out of a gasp of joy - it’s _stellar_ , especially after eating dry noodles and tuna for days. I have been too tired and depressed to take care of myself properly so this is just the kind of indulgence I needed. 

“Wow, this is…this is excellent. Good job,” I mumble, still completely confused about all of this. “Seems like you guys are talented in many fields along with music.”

Richard in front of me raises an eyebrow and looks at me humorlessly. “Of course, did you doubt us?” he asks with a mouthful of stew.

“Hey, how many times I have said that no talking while eating!” Paul commands before I have a chance to answer and pokes at his fellow guitarist with an elbow. “Save your boasting for later!”

I burst out a bit too loud giggle - I bet there’s not going to be a dull moment during upcoming days.

When we are finished with the dinner, Flake and Ollie volunteer to do the dishes. Paul whispers something to Richard and he goes outside, whistling happily by himself. His walking looks almost like jumping - surprise is coming, it seems.

But everything is not going as expected when we hear a genuine “Oh, shit, can’t be!” from the porch. 

Immediately, we stop what we are doing and go outside, finding an utterly disappointed Rammstein guitarist - and a smudge that was supposed to be the dessert apparently.

Richard is almost burst into tears. “So much… effort for our Strudel and now it’s ruined… fucking hell...” As we all know that he is a perfectionist, even a ruined dessert sends him into a personal crisis.

“Oh no, what happened?” Paul asks with concern while Till has to turn his back, not able to hide his amusement.

I scratch my head. “I think it might have been either the fox that roams around here or crows. Difficult to say. Sorry guys, I should have said that it’s not a good idea to leave food outside.”

“At least, they had a proper feast tonight,” Flake says, deadpanned. “Let’s hope they won’t get diarrhea from your cooking though.” 

After the comment, Till starts hysterical giggling even though the keyboardist didn’t mean to be funny. He was genuinely concerned about animals’ intestine health.

While Richard keeps pouting, not pleased for his friends’ reactions, Paul puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Well, maybe we have to come up with something else then. It’s not your fault.”

When we are back inside, Paul digs out a package of vanilla ice cream, jam and some dry bread that he starts frying. At the same time, he makes coffee.

Paul seems to be a decent cook as in no time we have a proper dessert, made out of random leftovers.

“See, it wasn’t so bad after all,” the saviour of the dessert whispers to Richard’s ear and gives him a tiny peck on the cheek before he sits down. Paul possesses a disposition to melt his fellow guitarist’s sulking as Richard already looks a bit happier.

After the luxurious meal - and Paul proving us that the coffee he got from the neighbor was safe to drink - we gather to the living room and Schneider notices I have a Playstation. He holds up a controller and asks: “Anyone up for playing?”

“Yes, of course!” Paul exclaims enthusiastically and looks at the people around him, asking a silent question.

I shrug my shoulders. “I guess I’m in as well. I don’t have anything better to do at least.”

Ollie and Flake seem to take their time with the cleaning after the dinner - purposefully or not, who knows - and Schneider doesn’t bother to ask from them.

Paul looks at Till who shakes his head. “I’m not going to play anything with Doom, _ever_.”

“C’mon, the more players, the merrier!” Schneider pouts. “Pleeeeease, I’ll go easy on you this time, I promise.”

“Can’t Richard play?” Till asks trying to change the attention from himself. “He’s always so eager about everything.”

Richard snorts and rolls his eyes when he sees the smug smirk on their singer’s face. “I’m not interested, playing is just a waste of time,” he states and stands up. “I’m going to have a smoke, so bis bald, meine Herren!”

But before Richard can go anywhere, Paul grabs his arm. “Where do you think you are going, mister? We have a game to play.” He looks at his fellow guitarist with pleading eyes - it’s clear that they have been going through a situation like this million times before. “Don’t be so boring!”

Richard looks timidly at the floor. “But whatever the game is, I always lose and I don’t like it…” he says with a voice barely audible. 

“Hey, I suck as well, so let’s just play whatever Schneider has in his mind,” I say, trying to encourage him. 

“Pleeeeeease, Reeshie…” Paul begs and still holds Richard’s arm, squeezing it even tighter. 

Eventually, the guitarist has to surrender. “Whatever…” Richard sighs and slumps back to the sofa, defeated. Paul hands him a controller immediately like he had been saving it for a situation like this for the whole day. 

“So, what are we playing then?” I ask.

Schneider browses my games and notices something that catches his interest. “Hey, Crash Team Racing! This is the best ever! And it’s not too complicated.”

Before anyone can even say anything against, the loud and colorful game is on already. I try to hold up my laughter when I hear grunting from the sofa followed by Paul whispering: “Don’t make faces, it’s supposed to be a fun way to spend time together…”

The vivid game starts and to no surprise, I fail right from the start so I am the last one. To be honest, I have never been into racing games in general so I don’t care so much. Richard is barely driving in front of me and I don’t want to upset him so I just keep on playing poorly.

Schneider and Paul, on the other hand, are having a battle of their lives. I’m glad my neighbors don’t live right next to me as a choir of German swearing and insults are now echoing in my living room. 

“SCHEISSE, PAUL GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Schneider shouts as the stupid game is the matter of life and death for him.”DU ARSCHLOCH, DON’T YOU DARE TO PASS ME!”

But just before the finishing line, Paul manages to pass Schneider and boy, he surely is proud as a peacock for his win. 

Paul jumps from the sofa and starts dancing around. “I WON!!!! WHO’S THE BEST!” 

“It’s only the first lap…” Schneider grunts and he is getting tense. “Anything can still happen, I’ll show you…”

Richard stands up and nonchalantly hands the controller for the confused Till who is sitting on the floor. “I’m going to take that fucking smoke finally.”

This time, Paul is so into the game that he doesn’t even realize his fellow guitarist has betrayed him. “Hurry up, hurry up!” he exclaims fidgeting restlessly while the new stage is loading. 

The new round starts and I suck again. Luckily, Till is as bad at the game as I am. He doesn’t even know which button does what and ends up driving to the ditches constantly - at least, he looks like he is having fun.

After a good amount of swearing and shouting, the game ends: Schneider is the winner this time. I and Till look at each other compassionately, shaking our heads.

Schneider grins smugly at Paul and sticks his tongue out. “Guess who won now! I’m the real master here, it’s only the beginning.” Schneider has earned his nickname for a reason: not only great at Doom, but he masters a lot of other videogames as well.

On the third round, Till stands up and I give him a meaningful look. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in your wardrobe anymore,” he says and winks. 

The door slams and then the singer has disappeared along with Richard. 

I don’t concentrate on the game anymore, but eventually, it ends and I got zero points. Schneider is the final winner and Paul throws the controller at him, but the drummer has quick reflexes so he manages to catch it before it would be shattered into pieces to his head.

“What a dumb game, next time I’ll show you!” Paul shouts and stands up, about to go to the kitchen making another cup of coffee. I have a feeling that if he keeps consuming the beverage like this we have to ask for our neighbor’s supplies several times during our quarantine.

Till comes back but without Richard. It’s getting late already and the harsh wind is making the windows squeal. It looks like it’s also drizzling when I look outside.

“Have you seen Richard?” I ask.

“No, I thought he was with you,” Till says and strokes his moist hair. “Who knows if he got lost in the wilderness already and a pack of wolves caught him.” Then, he looks at me with a sly smirk. “Or maybe even the wild animals got so tired of his complaints that they released him and now he is wandering alone with his boots too tight.”

Even Paul stops his precious coffee making when he hears that his fellow guitarist is in trouble. We all scatter outside trying to find Richard from the darkness who seems to have vanished into thin air. 

Now I’m starting to get worried - I don’t live utterly in the middle of nowhere, but there are forests all around and I hope he hasn’t gotten lost in the unknown place. I’m especially concerned about how the diva would survive the harsh conditions if he has to stay outside for the night - and not even to mention the whining that would be waiting for us in the next morning in case he finds his way back.

But when I have already walked like 30 minutes in the rain, starting to lose my hope, I see a familiar posture under a spotlight of a streetlamp. The figure has a cigarette in his mouth and he is talking with a dog walker so loud that I can hear it even from the distance. _Yes, it’s him. But how on earth did he end up here? We have to keep eye on him from now on._

When I’m closer, I can’t get with what language they are chatting - no one around here speaks German at least. Richard crouches and speaks some gibberish to the dog who is flagging its tail. The owner looks awkwardly around, her eyes signalling “please, send help”. I bet she has been too shy to ask for the random dog admirer to go away.

I nod to the lady when I’m near enough and grab our guitarist from the arm, starting to escort him back to the house. “We were supposed to stay in an arrest and it applies to you as well,” I state bitterly. ”Besides, if you decide to have your own walks would be nice if you’d tell us before. We thought you were kidnapped or something!” In reality, we didn’t think that but I just feel like I want to be dramatic with him - after all, he managed to scare us.

Surprisingly, Richard doesn’t even start to say anything against it. “Sorry,” he simply states, “all of this quarantine thing is making me crazy and I wanted some fresh air. Then I saw a cute dog and we started chatting with the owner. I didn’t realize it was so late already or I had walked so much.”

“What did you talk about with her?” I ask while I’m still escorting an adult man who is now turned into a little boy escaped from detention.

“About… ordinary stuff, you know. What people usually talk about.”

“Did she happen to speak any language you know?”

Richard remains silent for a second before he answers: “Well... not really. But I just kept petting the dog and at least she didn’t say I should go so I stayed. Also, I didn’t want to interrupt your precious game when you looked like you had so much fun with it.”

I stop and burst into laughter. “How can you even say it is a conversation if you didn’t understand each other?” _It’s called a monologue then, my dear…_ I want to say out loud. “Did it at any point come to your mind that she might have been busy but she was just too shy to say ‘go fuck yourselves’ to a foreign man who was interrupting her evening stroll?”

“Well, you know, we used sign language and stuff. And it seemed like she wasn’t upset at me, at least she was laughing at my jokes,” Richard says, failing to save himself anymore. I can’t help but notice that the infamous overuse of “you know” isn’t exaggerating - he seems to like it a lot.

_Note to self: in these 14 days, put down how many times he says that. Two times already at least._

When we are back in the house, I finally let Richard go and lecture him how he should never ever go anywhere without telling us. He meekly agrees and goes inside, most probably getting ready for another lecture from Paul.

I stay on the porch where Ollie has already put a tent. A tiny shine from the flashlight is illuminating the camouflage fabric and the bassist is lying inside on a thin mattress, his long legs sticking out.

“Umm, you don’t have to sleep outside,” I say peeping from the entrance of the bassist’s accomodation. “We have space inside in case you want to come there.” 

“It’s totally fine, I like to sleep outdoors,” Ollie answers, his gaze intensively on a book whose title I can’t see.

“Okay, but just in case you want to come inside, feel free to do so any time, ok? I don’t want you to get sick as the nights can get pretty goddamn cold here.”

Now, he puts the book aside and looks at me. “Thank you, but I’m fine. In fact, I sleep way better outside when it’s cold and calm.”

“Okay, but sleep well.”

“Yup, you too,” Ollie says and a tiny smirk is forming on his face when he adds: “Just to warn you that the guys might snore, so in case you are interrupted there’s extra space in my tent.”

I roll my eyes and chuckle. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure I can manage.”

I go inside to join the other guys and I find Paul still making his coffee in the kitchen claiming that he can’t sleep if he doesn’t get his nocturnal cup. I sit with him and Richard listening curiously about what they are debating now.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Richard says while he is sipping his red wine. “Caffeine is supposed to keep you awake. Your body is fucked up, Paulie.”

“Yeah, but red wine has tannins which aren’t good for your sleep either,” Paul challenges his friend, with a boyish glimmering in his eyes. He surely enjoys teasing his fellow guitarist a bit too much. “Besides, alcohol, in general, is bad. And smoking. And basically everything you like.”

Now, Paul has stabbed into Richard’s sensitive spots. “Hey, don’t you--”

I shake my head and laugh - they both have a point but I have a feeling that this is going nowhere so I stand up and leave the chattering behind me. 

With Flake, Till and Schneider we start setting the sleeping places. Flake wants to know where the cat usually sleeps and when I say that he might have a chance to have my pet if he’d sleep on the sofa, the keyboardist immediately takes the place to himself. Till and Schneider sleep in kind of a guest room - or it’s more like a closet, but they assure it’s ok. The proper places are now full so I have to come up with places for Richard and Paul.

I have a kingsize bed and when I propose the idea of either of them sleeping next to me, while the other must sleep on the floor on an air mattress, they get excited - but, to no surprise, they argue which one will get the more comfortable spot.

“Guys, this is going nowhere,” I say and can’t help it that I feel like I sound like a kindergarten teacher, trying to settle down a brawl. “I have a suggestion though: we can change the place every night. For every night, we can choose who can sleep on my bed with rock-paper-scissors, would that be fine?”

They both nod and stop their whining, now getting ready to win the special prize. Before I can even comprehend, they have started the game - ending up Paul winning.

“Sleep well on the floor, my princess,” he says to Richard with the sweetest voice he can. 

“Shut up,” Richard answers bitterly and goes to have the last smoke of the day. With that consumption, I can only wonder how long he will survive or do we have to go to our neighbor’s tobacco stash as well.

When everyone is inside for sure we say good night and Paul falls asleep next to me incredibly fast. I hear that Richard is fidgeting on the air mattress, clearly not being comfortable.

After 30 minutes or so, when Richard finally stops his fidgeting, I realize that Ollie was speaking the truth: they both snore. It’s a choir of two Rammstein guitarists in my bedroom now. What a cacophony. When the other one stops for a second, the other one follows: like they are unconsciously synced together.

I bury my face as deep to my pillow as I can. _Boy, this is going to be a loooong night._


	2. Controlled Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the quarantine in place, the members of Rammstein are settling into your home, a little too comfortably perhaps. It's time to put them to work!

I woke up groggily, trying to figure out what had interrupted my sleep. Loud snoring directly next to me as well as an echoing snore across the room answered that question quickly.

Oh yeah, that's right. I had 6 famous German rock stars staying in my house during the quarantine. I still almost couldn't believe this was real and not just some outrageously cool dream or something, but the snoring was very real, and so very loud.

Though Paul had fallen asleep facing away from me, leaving a polite distance between us on the bed, his snoring was still overwhelming, with Richard's from down on the floor equally as loud. I sighed, and tried burying my head under the pillow to muffle the grating noise. Somehow it seemed to get even louder. Great.

I looked at the clock and saw it was only 1 in the morning. With a quiet groan of resignation, I unwrapped myself from my mess of blankets and carefully tiptoed around Richard and the air mattress. He was sprawled out on it like a starfish with one of his legs dangling off the side. I stepped lightly over his leg and out of my bedroom. Might as well go make some tea and hope I got sleepy again. If I couldn't get back to sleep, I might have to insist the boys switch up their bunk assignments tomorrow night, and replace them with two who didn't snore quite as loudly.

I walked through the living room to get to the kitchen and was suprised to see Flake still awake. He was sitting comfortably on the couch, wrapped up in one of my favorite fuzzy pink blankets and reading a book. That wasn't the shocking part though; what really suprised me was that my cat was not only on Flake's lap, but he was *sprawled* on him, getting what looked like the world's most incredible belly rubs. He looked like jelly dangling across Flake's blanketed lap.

"I think he really likes you," I said, smiling. "He's never this friendly with strangers."

Flake looked up from the book and grinned, then said, "He really loved the treats I gave him, I suppose. I have a way with cats."

"I can see that," I said, able to hear my cat's purring even from several feet away. "Thank you for calming him down in this chaos."

"It's my pleasure."

"I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?"

Flake thought for a moment, then asked, "Caffeine free?"

"Yeah. I still plan on sleeping tonight. That is, if the two dueling lumberjacks can stop sawing logs long enough for me to fall back asleep."

Flake chuckled and scritched behind my cat's ears.  
"You picked the two worst ones to have sleep in your room. They snore as if they're competing for loudest annoying noses. If I might make a recommendation, you should have Till and Schneider swap with them or else you might never sleep again."

"I appreciate the advice," I said. "I'll figure it out in the morning."

Flake gave me a nod and then went back to his book. I went to the kitchen and dug out some peppermint tea and two mugs, then put on some water to boil. As I waited, I peeked out the back window to see if Oli had gone to sleep in his tent yet. The tent flap was open, and there was a light inside it like from a lantern or something, but I didn't see Oli's shadow inside. 

I did a quick scan of the backyard, then giggled as I saw Oli's lanky body hanging upside down from a tree branch. He was doing sit ups, his legs hung around the top of the branch and his hands behind his head to help him do his exercises. After watching in fascination for several minutes, he swung himself down to hang from his hands. He then started doing pull-ups on the branch. God, the man was really athletically inclined. Maybe I should bring out my exercise equipment for him tomorrow. I smiled and turned back to the now-boiling water. After pouring it into the mugs, I let them steep for a few minutes. 

While the tea set, I grabbed my tablet from the kitchen drawer and pulled up an online store. I'd had ideas kicking around my head while I was trying to fall asleep earlier, and now I wanted to put them to good use. 

I added several things to my online shopping cart, each one making me smile more and more. I had been given a rather large gift card several months ago that I never used, and figured now would be the perfect time. I didn't buy anything just yet, as I needed to add more to the order, but I had a great start. With a yawn, I turned the tablet off and stowed it back in the drawer, making a mental note to finish the order tomorrow.

The tea was nice and strong now, so I took out the teabags and grabbed a spoon and a little squeeze jar of honey, then took them into the living room. Flake took the tea gratefully, and then proceeded to dump an unholy amount of honey into his mug, nearly my entire bottle. I watched in amazement as he started drinking what was surely closer to syrup now than tea, but Flake seemed pleased with it. 

After bidding him (and my traitor cat who barely gave me a second look from Flake's lap) goodnight, I took my tea to my room and once again tiptoed around Richard's even more sprawled-out body, careful not to spill any tea. I slid into bed, cradling my mug in one hand and pulling up an article on my phone with my other.

"10 Fun Things to do While Sheltering in Place."

I rolled my eyes at some of the ridiculous things on the list as I sipped my tea.  
"Do a puzzle, the more pieces the better!"

I started imagining the 6 Rammstein men fighting over a 3,000 piece puzzle, with pieces flying everywhere and loud disagreements about who got the most edge pieces put down correctly. Yeah, no, that probably wouldn't be a great idea. 

I finished my tea as I skimmed the article, noting a few activities that actually seemed promising. My eyes started drooping, and the resonant snoring instead of being grating on my ears started lulling me into a sleepy daze. With a huge yawn I set my empty mug and phone down on the bedside table, then snuggled back under my mountain of blankets. Tomorrow was going to be something, that's for sure.

\-------------

The second time I woke up, it was to whispered voices in frantically hushed tones. Confused, I rubbed my eyes and sat up, and was greeted with the sight of all six men surrounding the bed and grinning.

"Good morning!" they all cried in unison.

I sat wide-eyed and speechless as Richard and Paul brought over trays of breakfast foods, orange juice, and what looked like fresh coffee that Paul must have made. I didn't drink coffee, but their faces were so eager and pleased that I held my tongue so as not to disappoint them. 

"What's with breakfast in bed?" I asked in confusion while the trays of food and drink were carefully placed on the bed beside me. 

"I know it wasn't terribly easy to fall asleep amongst the loudest snorers," Flake said, pushing his glasses up his nose and staring pointedly at Paul and Richard, "So they wanted to make you breakfast in bed as an apology. The rest of us just wanted to thank you again for your hospitality and enjoy food with you."

"We really are sorry for the noise," Richard said, his eyebrows scrunched together apologetically.

"Yes," Paul added with gigantic puppy dog eyes. "We just want to make it up to you."

I smiled and looked at the spread of food. There were eggs, bread, biscuits, jams, various meats I wasn't entirely sure of but assumed were equally delicious, and oatmeal with what looked like fresh berries on top.

"Guys, where did you get all this?" I asked incredulously. "Surely you didn't all go out to the store so early, especially not with the quarantine."

Flake raised his hand sheepishly. "When I saw you'd been woken up, I knew they would want to make it up to you, so I ordered all the food and rush shipped it overnight. I had to guess what you'd like based on what I found already in the kitchen, but Paul and Richard get all the credit for cooking everything."

I looked at the two noisy sleepers, who were beaming at me proudly. I smiled and said, "Thank you two, so much. This absolutely makes up for the snoring."

Their grins widened and they turned to each other and hi-fived in triumph. 

"All right," Till said in an authoritative voice, "Now everyone else go get your food as well."

Before I could ask what he was talking about, the men left my room and returned in a hurry, each bringing their own plates of food and drinks. They crowded around the bed, Richard and Schneider actually climbing up onto the bed next to me, and began chatting and eating breakfast as if it were an impromptu cafe. Paul and Oli sat over next to the dresser, Till and Flake occupied the floor next to the side of my bed, and Richard and Schneider made themselves at home beside me. 

Within two minutes, everyone was laughing and talking loudly over one another. Flake had decided his meat was burnt, and was busy scraping it onto Till's plate who hungrily devoured it, burned or not. Paul was peeking up into Richard's oatmeal bowl, and suddenly yelled that Richard had far more berries than he did.

"You can't hog all the berries," Paul protested, reaching his spoon up to steal some. 

Richard yanked his bowl away from Paul's reach and stuck his tongue out at him sassily.  
"I made the oatmeal, so I get to decide how much everyone gets. I get the most because I did the most work."

"Hey, Till, look at this," Schneider called across the room.

Till looked up from his plate and started guffawing as Schneider took one of his sausages and placed it suggestively in the front zipper of his pants. Flake looked disgusted at the two while Oli giggled, but blushed as he saw me staring open-mouthed at the display. 

The room was in utter disarray, with laughing, shouting, arguing, hip thrusting, and-- oh god-- now there was berry throwing and drinks spilling as Paul tried to fight his way across to bed to get at Richard's bowl. Till was nearly rolling on the floor laughing as Schneider had abandoned his phallic sausage routine and was now trying to pelt Oli with berries from across the room. Oli dodged masterfully and taunted Schneider, insisting his aim was worse than his blind grandmother's. Schneider knocked his orange juice clean off the bed and onto the floor but didn't seem to notice it at all as he finally managed to splat a blueberry right on Oli's ear, making him yelp.

I buried my head in my hands at the chaos, and when I dared look up, I caught Flake's eye and mouthed the words "please help me" at him. His annoyed face grew serious and he set down his plate of food. He stuck two fingers in his mouth, and suddenly a piercing whistle cut through the calamity.

Everyone stopped what they were doing immediately and froze in place. Oli had ducked behind my dresser and was fishing pieces of blueberry out of his ear; Till had tried to mimic Schneider's sausage antics but gotten it stuck in his zipper; Paul was laying across the bed with Richard's belt loop in hand as he'd tried to catch him; and Richard was also laying across the bed with his oatmeal outstretched to keep away from Paul.

Everyone suddenly looked very guilty as they saw the mess they'd created. 

"Well, shit," Richard said.

Though I'd been silent up until this point, seeing all 6 of these grown men looking like goofy children with bits of breakfast scattered across the room made me bubble over with happiness. I started laughing at the ridiculousness, unable to keep a straight face any longer. Everyone chuckled nervously, probably afraid that I'd snapped and lost my mind. 

When I was finally able to calm down, I wiped tears from my eyes and said, "Guys, I really do appreciate this, but can we please take it to the dining room now before my bedroom becomes even more of a war zone?"

Everyone hurriedly agreed and started cleaning up as best they could, scraping up bits of berries and grabbing towels to mop up the spilled juice. Flake assured me that he would take care of the carpet and ensure there were no stains. 

"No, don't worry about that," I tried to say. "I can clean all this up "

"Don't be ridiculous," he insisted. "We're your guests. We will always clean up after ourselves." With that, he shooed me out of the bedroom with the rest of the men as he went to work cleaning, promising to have it spotless within an hour. 

"Who wants mimosas?" Till suddenly called from the kitchen. 

I bolted into the kitchen and snatched the champagne bottle from his hand before he could pop the cork. 

"I think we should wait on the alcohol," I said hurriedly, stowing the champagne back in the cooler. "One round of chaos is enough for right now." 

Till pouted but didn't protest further. 

"All right, look," I said, setting them all down at the dining room table to address them. "We're all stuck together for two weeks, at least, right?"

They all nodded at me.

"Right, so in order not to go insane by the third or fourth day, as well as make sure we don't burn the house down or something, I think we need to make a list of things to do, both fun things and also chores."

Schneider groaned at that and Richard seemed to look almost offended that I'd said it. Paul though started to nod his head in agreement, as did Oli. 

"You're right," Till chimed in. "With six of us plus you, the house is going to get filthy very fast, and we can't hire anyone to come clean with the quarantine in effect. I think it's a good idea to designate cleaning duties."

I sighed in relief. I had been very concerned that my biggest job would have been following around behind everyone and cleaning up their messes for two weeks. Luckily they weren't your typical asshole rockstars who trashed places without thought for the owners.

"Can I please not get stuck with dishes?" Richard whined. "It scuffs my nail polish, and I didn't bring any extra with me."

With a good-natured smile, I patted his shoulder.  
"Don't worry, Richard. I've got plenty of nail polish."

He brightened at that, but said, "I still dont want to do dishes, though."

"Then you can be on toilet duty," Paul snickered from across the table. Richard shot him a dirty look, but before he could sass back, I raised my hands again. 

"Look, we'll do it on a rotation, that way everyone has a chance to do everything, and no one is stuck doing something they hate for long. Fair?"

There were a few grumbles, but eventually everyone agreed.  
"All right, good. We can iron out all the details later. Now we talk about the fun stuff."

Everyone seemed to perk up at that, and they all listened intently to me.  
"I have a couple of ideas for fun things to do to pass the time. Obviously this isn't a comprehensive list so please, feel free to add in things as much as you want. We're gonna be here awhile, so we might as well make it fun, right? So, the first things I thought of are sort of small, but still interesting. Does anyone like gardening?"

Schneider's hand shot up, with Till's following close behind.

"Excellent. I have a bunch of flower bulbs in the garage that I've been meaning to plant in the back flower beds but havent gotten around to it. I have to throw some fertilizer and mulch down first though. Would you two want to help with that?"

"Absolutely," Schneider said enthusiastically.

"Yes," Till added. "And I promise my flower bed will be twice as nice as Doom's."

Schneider whipped his head to face Till, who just shrugged nonchalantly.  
"If you think you can beat me at anything gardening-related, you're absolutely dead wrong," he challenged, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Oh I'll beat you all right. I'm gonna kick your ass at it," Till promised.

"Guys, please!" I interrupted. "You can kick each others asses all you want, but just do it outside. And please make sure the mulch stays in the flower beds. All the stuff is in the garage; do you think you can handle that?" 

Both men nodded happily, then scampered away from the table to go start their project. 

"All right, Richard," I said, "do you have any experience painting?"

He shrugged and waved his hand in a so-so motion.  
"I've painted my bedroom once."

"That works! I need to paint the guest bathroom. It's tiny, and the sink and toilet are already covered; it just needs to be painted. Would you like to work on that? I need someone with an eye for color and details to do it."

Richard smiled broadly. "I'm definitely your man for the job."

"Perfect," I said happily. "The brushes and paint cans are all in the garage as well. I'll let you pick the colors and everything; just don't paint it black, please."

Richard scoffed at the idea and said, "Definitely not. I certainly have better taste than that."

He stood up and excused himself from the table to go find the painting stuff.

"Oli," I said next, "I had a strong feeling you might want to help with this one. I have a whole mess of exercise equipment in the basement, all of it torn apart and broken down. It all supposedly works, it's just in pieces all over the basement. There's at least a treadmill, weight bench, something with weights that you pull? I can't remember what it's called. Anyway, there is a *lot* down there, and if you want to help get it back together, you're more than welcome to use it as much as you like."

Though Oli seemed like he was normally pretty shy, his face lit up like I'd just given him a million dollars.  
"I'd love to," was all he said before hurrying downstairs to go ahead and start working. 

"That leaves me, I guess," Paul said, the only one left at the table. 

"Well, it's nothing spectacular," I admitted, "but it should be interesting at least. My mother bought and sent me a new cat tree, one of those really big ones that has those long connectors to reach across a room, and I was hoping I could have someone help me set it up. It seems like a two person job."

Paul grinned. "I love building things, and even better if we get to see the cat try it out when it's done. I'd love to help!"

"Excellent," I said, both excited and nervous, as I knew that the chaos was probably far from over.  
"Well, I guess let's get started!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy hey! Welcome to this goofy little mess of a chapter xD  
> Going to apologize already as this sort of fic as well as the first person are not at all my strong suits, so I defer entirely to hanhanhan's expertise in this endeavor. That said, I hope you continue to enjoy this fun, ridiculous fic as a reprieve from the seriousness out in the world.


	3. Open concepts, y'know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stupidity intensifies! A wild neighbor appears and Richard's artistic skills are a bit questionable.

When the chaos crew is send into their duties an eerie silence falls upon the house. For a second I wonder about my next move: should I help the guys or just chill out and trust that they will carry out their duties without hazards? The latter alternative sounds tempting indeed, but deep inside I have a feeling that they _might_ need supervision. _Well, maybe I’ll just check on them quickly that they have started their work and not just goofing around._ I shiver when I think about Till trying to find my sex toys. _Yup, I think that big bear needs a bit of monitoring._ I feel like a nanny in the middle of this chaos, but have to admit that it’s entertaining. Maybe I’ll change my mind in case they set something on fire.

I realize that I forgot to give Flake a task, but a glimpse outside reveals that he is going to the garage with Ollie. A mention of the word _treadmill_ must have resonated with him. 

I pour myself a glass of the leftover orange juice from breakfast and keep looking outside. A black and red-figure - with multiple jars of paint in his hands - comes out of the garage. Behind the pile, Richard grins at me slyly when he notices me supervising from the window. I raise my thumb as an encouragement. 

“It’s gonna be a hell of a toilet!” I can hear his muffled exclaiming through the window. “Soon, all your neighbors will be lining up for using the coolest loo of this universe!”

“Yeah, I sure bet,” I mumble back and in no time, the door slams. Richard is back inside, ready to start his duty he takes extremely seriously - as anything he does.

When I trust it’s safe enough to leave Richard with his paints I next go to check the living room where another guitarist of the house is about to start the cat tree project. 

“Alles gut?” I ask.

In the middle of several boxes sits Paul ready to unwrap them like a kid on Christmas. He turns to look at me and gives me a peace sign at the same time when an innocent smile forms on his face. “Alles ist perfekt, keine Bange!”

Taking a sip from my glass, I nod. “Okay. In case you have any questions or need help I’ll be outside with Till and Schneider. Instructions should be somewhere inside those boxes.”

“Thanks, but you can always trust me. As I mentioned earlier, I love building things so this will be a piece of cake for a man like me,” Paul assures and starts opening the boxes. “Let’s see what we have here…”

Daring to finally make my way outside I pass the kitchen and there Till’s bottle of champagne haunts me. I stop for a second and glance at the alcohol - it’s impossible to ignore it. _I said to them that maybe it’s not a suitable time to start drinking this early…_

Normally, I would never take alcohol at this time of the day and it feels wrong to even think about it, but what the heck, nothing is normal at the moment, so maybe I can relax and live my life even though the conditions.

I pour the stronger liquid into my glass and step to the backyard where Till and Schneider are busy competing with their gardening skills. Next to them, I see two cans of Rammstein beer - the guys truly are prepared for the quarantine. Of course, I should have known that the cultured German rockstars can’t drink anything else than their homemade beer.

Taking a chair I finally have a chance to sit down and enjoy the sun warming up my face. Till and Schneider are doing well without me so I lean back, ready to sunbathe - ignoring the outside world temporarily. In the middle of this pandemic crisis I have forgotten that yeah, summer is just behind the corner. Hints of it are in the air: singing birds, warmer and warmer days and even the scent of the air has changed during recent weeks.

Without noticing it, I make myself so comfortable that I doze off. Now in this peaceful bliss, I think that this quarantine doesn’t feel so _bad_ at the moment. I’m lucky enough to have received my entertainment by the form of six German guys who are now even willing to work for me for free. What else could I even asked for? Most of the time, life is such a pain in the ass, but right now _alles ist gut_.

My sweet daydreaming is interrupted though when something starts poking my bare arm. “What… what the hell…” I mumble and blink my eyes to get a clearer vision. 

Close to me stands the old lady from my neighbor - too stubborn to quarantine herself completely. Her gaze is focused on the two German men - who have now taken their shirts off - perfecting my flower benches. “Isn’t it lovely when men do all the work for you?” she asks and doesn’t even bother to explain why is she in my backyard suddenly without any prior warning. “If I were you, I wouldn’t complain to see handsome topless men doing all the work of the house while I could just sunbathe. Lucky you.” There’s a vague wistfulness in her tone.

“Yeah, I… I suppose so…” I mumble back and wonder for a while is she soon going to steal the guys for himself or whatever else she might be up to with this invasion.

My neighbor then leans closer to me and whispers: “Are you still a single?”

I didn’t expect questions this straightforward about my love life. “W… what…?” 

Blinking my eyes and letting out an awkward cough I continue: “Well, nowadays… yes, I am. But to be honest, it’s not what you think, they are perhaps a bit too o--”

“Well, you have now great alternatives,” she interrupts and winks. “It’s always good to have several options. My advice is to take the most hard-working even though if he wasn’t the most handsome one. Looks can be deceiving.”

My cheeks are warming up - and not just because of the sun starting to shine properly - and I don’t know how to respond. She’s talking about my guests like they were some kind of prizes to take. I shake my head. “Look, I appreciate your advice, but it’s not what you think, I just won kind of a contest and they came here out of a sudden.”

But the neighbor ignores me once again and keeps looking at the eager gardeners. Maybe I should forgive her - she’s probably just old and bored, getting a bit potty from being stuck at home for too long.

Schneider and Till have started arguing over whether a certain flower is multiyear or not. I notice a couple of German swear words, but luckily, my neighbor doesn’t know any other languages besides her native tongue.

“I just wonder where is that fine little gentleman who came to me to ask for coffee yesterday,” my neighbor says and sighs wistfully. “What a man indeed, so polite and handsome… and he sure knows about quality coffee… if all men in the world were like him this would be a much better place to live...”

I try to hide my grinning face. _Aa ok, I get it. The little guitarist has caught my neighbor’s eye..._

Now I notice that in the old lady’s hand there’s a colorful package with a self-made card. Pointing at it, I ask: “What do you have there, are you visiting the post office?”

Surprisingly, my neighbor hands the package to me.“Give this to _that_ man and tell him the best greetings just behind the corner.” She winks. “He is always welcome to visit at any time of the day. I promise I’ll have coffee and pancakes ready.” 

With a wide smile on her wrinkled features, she states her final words: “Have a lovely day you all!”

Then, the old lady is gone faster than she had arrived. Glued to my chair, I glance at the fading figure and the package. _Could it be something… suspicious? Should I check it before I give it to Paul...?_ Luckily, the guys in front of me are still busy with gardening so they most probably didn’t even see what just happened - otherwise, they must have been curious or even jealous when they didn’t get a gift from my neighbor. Their argument is settled and from Till’s pouting, I assume that he has lost their frantic fight over the flowers.

All kinds of ideas about the contents of the present revolve around in my head but before I start overthinking, I decide that I should hide it under my chair and keep watching the gardeners instead. _I’ll handle it to Paul later and it’s his fault if Richard sees it and wants it to himself. I’m not responsible for this._

Sighing and making myself comfortable again, I keep witnessing the sight in front of me. It’s charming how carefully Till handles the fragile flower bulbs and digs the soil with his hands big as shovels - he surely likes to work with his hands. Schneider’s style, on the other hand, is a bit more rough and messy - he is full of dirt from head to toe, but he still looks like he knows what he is doing.

I chuckle myself when I think about some people considering these guys scary. _If they only knew the truth..._ Even though they make songs about the most fucked-up topics possible, I could never consider them terrifying: in case we might get tired of each other during these days, at least for now they all are still sweet, goodhearted and entertaining and as a bonus, eager to help in household chores. I’m a bit worried though are they even a bit too eager.

I stand up and make my way next to the gardeners.“Wie geht’s?” I ask and admire their work this far. True German efficiency with a hint elegancy.

Till raises his head and beams. “Mir gehts gut, why? Does it look like you as you wanted it to be?” he asks and then pokes Schneider with his elbow. “I’m not so sure about our drummer here, but you can trust me, I have done this quite a lot. If he ruins something, I’ll fix it in no time.”

“Hey!” Schneider exclaims and slaps Till’s thigh with his dirty hand, leaving a palm-shaped spot on the singer’s work pants. “If you want this to be done earlier than in September, maybe you should talk less bullshit and work harder. I don’t know about you, but at least I wanted to do something else today as well.”

The sight reminds me of when I was working in a daycare for a while: two boys in a sandbox, fighting over who is better at whatever subject. “Ok guys hold your horses,” I say. “I’m sure the garden will look perfect and you have done a great job this far. Keep going on.” They both look so proud of themselves. “I’ll go to see Ollie and Flake and in case the neighbor comes to chat, be nice to her. She may seem a bit… weird, but still pretend that you agree with her about everything.” _Especially about your tiny cute guitarist who she thinks is the greatest man in the world at the moment._

“Absolutely,” they both reply exaggeratedly eagerly and with the one last glance, I leave. It doesn’t seem like chaos too big - well, not yet.

I then go to the garage where Ollie is busy assembling the gym equipment with weird psychedelic German techno as his soundtrack. _Can only wonder whose choice the music has been..._ Flake and a man who wasn’t supposed to be there are just standing and looking at their bassist’s hard work, shouting opposite instructions.

“Excuse me,” I say and cough while both Flake and his companion turn around, the latter one resembling a ghost when he realizes he has gotten caught.

Richard glances at Flake - the keyboardist grins and mouths an inaudible “whoops” and then whispers: “You might have some explaining to do, Reeshie.” 

On purpose, I have blocked the door. I cross my arms and ask: “ _Excuse me_ mister, but weren’t you supposed to paint the toilet?”

“Yeeeees,” Richard answers, weirdly stretching the words. At the same time, he is busy examining his nails. “Why do you ask?”

I take a step forward. “Well, if you knew what you were supposed to do, why the hell are you here talking bullshit with Flake?” I glance at the keyboardist who looks so proud when Richard is been scolded. “And also, you are not anything better as you were supposed to help Ollie with the gym stuff.”

Richard spreads his arms. “Hey, chill out, I’m brainstorming, can’t you see?” He’s not very convincing though. “Creative thinking needs some time, y’know? An artist cannot force his inspiration.”

“So, your choice was to seek for your muse from my garage instead of proceeding with the task I gave you?”

Not meeting my eyes, Richard mumbles: “Well, it’s not like that… it’s just...”

I sigh. “Richard Zven Kruspe, just get your fine ass back to the work, please. I want these chores to be done before 2022.”

He then nods and bows apologetically. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I assure I won’t disappoint you, my master.” He then straightens his back and looks at me with an excited glimmer in his eyes. “The toilet will be perfect, you will see. So good that all the neighbors will be green from envy.”

Before I have a chance to reply anyhow, he’s already gone. “Jesus…” I mumble and step into the garage finally to see what the guys have been doing there. Seems like Ollie has been efficient: the treadmill is now fully functioning and he is next working on the benches.

Flake there admires Ollie’s work. “Isn’t it beautiful? I love treadmills.” He looks at the gym gadget wistfully - it must have ignited a lot of memories. “And just to let you know, I haven’t been just goofing around, I have been useful here. Right, Ollie?”

The bassist ignores Flake’s words and instead keeps doing his work.

“Yeah, it sure is,” I answer even though I don’t have the slightest clue how a treadmill can be considered beautiful. For the latter statement, I’m not so sure do I believe him, but whatever. At least Ollie has been having company.

“Flake there is one hell of a walker,” Ollie exclaims out of a sudden before something clangs and his concentration is back on the bench again. “Where on earth did that go...”

When Ollie finally finds what had detached he points at Flake with a screwdriver in his hand. “Go on, show her your best moves like you did when we assembled the treadmill earlier.”

“Well, umm,” the keyboardist mumbles and runs a hand through his hair - he turns adorably timid. “I don’t know, it’s not a suitable time now. It’s awkward if I just do my walking thing randomly - especially with this music.” He then looks at me. “It was, by the way, Richard’s choice. I can’t complain though, it’s better than his own songs.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right, some other music would be better,” I say when an idea comes to my mind. I screen the unpacked boxes all around the garage. “But I might have something else that will keep you occupied during these days!”

A confused keyboardist keeps standing on his place while I start opening up the cardboard boxes. “Where is it… it should be here still… hopefully, I didn’t throw it away when I moved...”

When I finally found what I was looking for, I exclaim victoriously: “Heureka!” 

I stand up and hand the object to the bemused Flake. “Now there are no excuses for you not to perform for us!”

“Umm…” Flake mumbles and holds the pink children’s mini piano in his hands that I just gave him. “What… is this?” He glances at Ollie signaling “help, what the hell am I supposed to do now?” but the bassist just keeps doing his job.

“It’s my old piano! You can have it so you won’t forget how to play!” I exclaim, much more enthusiastic than the official musician himself. “It has cool lights and even 180 different tones in it! Here, listen up.” I take the piano in my hands and start playing a funky tune with a drum beat.

Then, I hand the so-called instrument back to its new owner who still isn’t convinced. “So, what is the point of this?” Flake asks.

Ollie stops what he is doing and wipes sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Hey, I might have an idea!” he exclaims unusually enthusiastically and both I and Flake stare at him in amazement.

“What if,” he starts and looks at Flake, “when we are finished, perform an improvised concert here in the garage now when we have both a treadmill and a keyboard!” Rubbing his hands together, he adds: “Do you have any other instruments for us to use?” 

I scratch my chin. “If my memory serves me right, I might have an acoustic guitar somewhere and an old souvenir djembe. No bass I’m afraid though.”

Ollie smiles. “No worries about that, I have my bass and amplifier in our van, ready for cases like this.”

“Okay, cool!” I start to get excited about the idea: Rammstein’s private gig in my garage, with a various set of random instruments. If Corona would have never happened, at least I wouldn’t have had a chance to see this. 

My smile fades slowly though when I realize something. “Well, one thing though that might be problematic…”

Ollie raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I have only one guitar while… ummm... you happen to have two guitarists.”

“They can fight over who can play the guitar and who can be a background dancer;” Flake states. “Or, if they can’t agree who will be the player, we’ll have an experimental gig with Reesh and Paul dancing in dresses, without guitars.”

“Reminds me of that one Halloween gig…” Ollie mumbles by himself. “But yeah, anything is fine for me. It would be nice to play something, it’s been a while.”

“Maybe I could ask the neighbors to join as well,” I say. “It’s outdoors so it should be fine. And there isn’t going to be thousands of participants, only 10 or so.”

"So, when is this masterpiece going to be revealed to the public?" Flake asks. “Do we have some time to rehearse at least?”

I put a reassuring hand to the keyboardist’s shoulder. “Whenever you are ready with these tasks. And of course, you can practice.”

Then, Ollie is back to work and Flake finally goes to help him.

I wave them goodbye and go back to the gardeners. I propose the idea of an improvised garage concert to them as well. Schneider says he is fine playing with djembe, but Till is a bit concerned about the lack of an actual microphone. “So, how is my voice going to be heard? I don’t want to scream my lungs out.”

“Well, I have a couple of karaoke microphones if those are for any help.”

Till shrugs. “Better than nothing, I guess. We can perform some evening, but we have to finish this before.”

Whistling by myself, I’ll go back to the house. I’m so flattered to have a private gig from them at my own house. Maybe this quarantine isn’t going to be so bad after all.

 _Rammstein’s new tour idea: performing in various garages of the fans._ I giggle myself for the idea. Maybe when this pandemic is over, they will hire me as their manager.

Inside, I hear Emigrate’s familiar melody, followed by slightly out of tune singing: “New York City will never sleep, yeeaaah!” Sounds like Richard is on fire. I’m not sure if I dare to interrupt him now while being in such a good mood. At least he now does something instead of just standing and looking cool.

Scared for the consequences for interrupting Richard’s singing session, I instead go to the living room where I find Paul lying on the floor, his face buried into his hands - I’m not sure whether he is sobbing or laughing. Pieces of the cat tree are scattered all around, some parts are broken. It looks like he has thrown them against the wall in frustration.

I kneel next to the guitarist and with a voice barely audible, ask: “What… what happened? Are you fine?”

Paul doesn’t take the hands out of his face when he mutters: “Stupid Swedish instructions… fucking Ikea… spreading everywhere like cancer...”

“You said yourself that you are good at building things,” I have to add sarcastically when I realize that there is no actual emergency here. “And Swedish furniture is just as fine as anything else.”

Now he finally reveals his face of utter disappointment. He stares blankly at the roof. “Maybe we’ll just cut an actual tree from the forest for your cat. This fucking sucks. Too many small parts, half of them missing. Wrong sized screws.” He sighs in annoyance. “And what is the worst, the instructions are _only_ in Swedish.”

“That’s strange, it should have at least an English side in it,” I say when I start checking the boxes as well - he seems to be right: only a Swedish instructions leaflet.

“Well guess what, but it didn’t,” Paul snorts and crosses his arms, still lying on the floor. “I tried to read the Swedish part when I didn’t find anything else, but even the title was a nightmare.” He takes the paper in his hands and reads out loud with a mocking accent: “‘Träd för stora katten’ what the hell is that gibberish?”

“You could have googled it,” I state dryly and take the paper from his hand, reading quickly what it says. “To be honest, Swedish doesn’t differ so much from your language.”

I now woke up something in Paul: he raises from the floor into a sitting position and looks at me with wide eyes. “Good Heaven’s, what are you talking about? You should know that German is always much more sophisticated than that.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say…”

Trying to come up with how I could cheer poor little guitarist’s mood up before he starts pouting more, I get an idea. “Hey, I just remembered that I have something for you, wait a minute, where did I put it…”

Paul looks at my back with a question mark above his head when I hurry to pick the package - it’s still outside, under the chair where I left it. I quickly check that Till and Schneider are doing fine and go back to the living room where Paul is patiently waiting.

“Here you are!” I exclaim when I handle the small package to the guitarist. “The neighbor sends her best greetings and said that she will always have pancakes and coffee ready if you want to visit her again.”

When Paul raises an eyebrow and looks at me, I remind him: “You know, that lady from whom you asked coffee yesterday.”

Paul’s eyes got brighter - when coffee is mentioned, all his worries about the cryptic Swedish pieces of furniture are already forgotten. “Aa, yeah, I remember of course. She was being very nice even though we didn’t even speak the same language,” he says and carefully examines the package. “But... why on earth she gave me a gift? Is there something I should know?”

“Maybe you should ask it yourself from her,” I reply mysteriously.

Paul shrugs and starts to unwrap the present. When he sees a glimpse of the content, he tears the rest of the wrapping and stands up like a spring. He starts bouncing around the pieces of the cat tree. “Oh my God…. OH MY GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!”

I stand up now as well and try to look at the small package on the guitarist’s hand. “What is it? Can I see?”

With bright eyes, Paul lifts the package ceremonially, like Rafiki at the beginning of Lion King when young Simba is revealed to the kingdom. “Look at this… nectar from the gods...”

I read the label out loud: “Dark roast coffee beans from Sumatra.” As I don’t drink coffee I don’t get it. “...so what’s the big deal?”

Paul snorts and shakes his head. “You miss so much in life when you don’t drink coffee...”

“Nevermind what I drink, but what is so special about… this?”

Pointing at the package, Paul lectures: “This is one of the _best fucking_ quality coffees in the world your neighbor has given to me for free. This particular label got 99,8 points out of 100 in a test of the ‘Global Coffee Review’ magazine. And that is something, the critics are extremely picky!”

“...okay?” I glance at the package. “But… I still don’t get it.”

But Paul doesn’t bother to listen to my uncivilized anti coffee drinker’s questions, but instead, he rushes to the kitchen. “I have to taste it right now and hide it from Richard… the normal coffee is like cat piss compared to this, so he can have that junk all by himself now…” he talks alone and guffaws, like he is now the biggest genius on this planet. “My precious…”

I follow the guitarist to the kitchen. “I had something to ask from you as we kinda settled stuff occurring you as well with the other guys already.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Paul answers nonchalantly - maybe my rambling is useless as the guitarist seems to be out of this world. He opens the package and sniffles it, closing his eyes and mumbling: “So… perfect… this is how coffee plantation must smell like in heaven...” 

He takes his own coffee grinder and with shaking hands puts the precious beans there - of course, the ultimate coffee enthusiast must make his beverage from the scratch. Instant coffees and cheap brands are for losers - I should have known that.

I still try though. “Just that we were thinking with the other guys when we were in the garage that you could hold a private concert later this week when you are done with the chores. I was thinking to ask a couple of neighbors to come by as well, they are bored so it would cheer them up. I haven’t asked from you and Richard but the others were happy with the idea.”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Paul answers quickly when he measures the freshly ground brown gold to the maker.

“Just letting you know that we have only one guitar so you and Richard either have to share or another one must dance in the background or play the triangle or something. You can settle it yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.”

“You sure?”

Paul doesn’t reply to me anymore - he is deep in the world of coffee, carefully looking at how the drink starts slowly but steadily drop, ready to freshen the thirsty caffeine addict’s body and soul.

I’m not very convinced of the answer, but I decide not to care - I consider this as an agreement. If Paul complains later I can only tell him that maybe he should have listened to me earlier.

The muffled sounds of the same Emigrate song coming out of the toilet reminded me of the one last person from whom I should still ask about the garage concert idea.

So next, I’m on my way to the gorgeous new guest toilet - and the first thing I notice is that the door has been removed. My stomach does flips already - I’m not sure if I dare to see the rest. Taking a deep breath, I step in.

Richard is on his knees painting and doesn’t notice me. “I'm gonna win, I’m gonna lose, I’m gonna chase it till the end. And if you’re walking in my shoes, you’re gonna make it or preteeeeeeeend!” _Yes_ , he still sings along with the same freaking tune. “Whatever’s clever, whatever’s clever will have to waaaaaait!” 

Then, he stands up and throws his hands in the air when he continues: “And now we just feel the energy, New York City will never...”

He turns around to me, managing to say the one last “sleep” before he drops the brush to the floor. Stains of red paint splatter all around, even to my shoes and pants.

“What on earth have you done to my toilet?” I ask and look at him piercingly. “And you better have some goddamn good explanations for this mess.”

Without bothering to put the music off, or even put the volume down, he shouts: “Hey, I only followed your instructions, you said I shouldn’t paint it black! See, it’s not black!” At the same time, he moves his hips along with the music. “Isn’t it creative and unique?” 

Now, I start to get seriously annoyed so I put the freaking music off. “Richard, listen. I said: paint _the walls_.” I glance around and shake my head. “What from that sentence you didn’t understand?”

“Yes, I painted them,” he says and grins. There’s paint even on his face and a red stain in his hair - he looks like a kid who has been messing around with fingerpaints a bit too eagerly.

“Along with the walls, you painted the fucking toilet seat.” I look around in horror. “And the sink. And yourself. Basically, everything that is here.”

“I didn’t want to be restricted only to the walls so I think it was a cool idea to give a bit of color everywhere...”

I turn around and point at the place where there was supposed to be a door. “And what the hell were you thinking when you removed the door?” Then, I look back at the eager painter who doesn’t even look anyhow sorry. “I don’t know about you, but normally people come to do their stuff to the toilet privately.”

“Open concept, you know,” he answers and turns around, his hands in the air. “I read from design magazines that it’s trendy nowadays! Besides, this toilet was so cramped before that I decided to modify it a bit. More space and a fresh new look - two flies with a single hit!” He sounds like a lousy real estate agent, trying to sell a rathole “And you can have a poster of a lovely landscape to the wall in front so it will feel like being on a holiday whenever you visit your bathroom. Amazing, isn’t it?” 

At least he tries his best to save himself - all I wanted was a normal toilet, with plain paint on the walls. I guess I just don’t get it.

Till and Schneider have sneakily come inside and are behind my back. “Reesh, you gotta be kidding me,” Schneider says and Till next to him starts to giggle. “You seriously think people want to take a dump in an open toilet, getting a nice little red stain in their ass at the same time?” Schneider steps in and examines the mess more thoroughly. “Honestly, we all know your ideas tend to be questionable but…were you out of your mind when you created this?”

Richard’s mouth opens and shuts like a fish being on ground. He is running out of good explanations when even his best buddies started to mock him. “I… I… just thought that…”

Paul joins the hassle as well, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. “What the hell is going on in here, why are you shouting so loud?” he asks and stops by the door. “Oh mein Gott…”

“Well, you can check it yourself and tell your opinion about your fellow guitarist’s artistic skills,” Schneider states ironically.

With wide eyes, Paul examines the toilet - now turned into an “open concept” - when his eyes stop on something on the ground. “Wait a minute…” he mumbles and crouches, taking a stained piece of paper under Richard’s feet into his hands. It tears a bit, but it’s ruined by the paint already anyway.

“You dumbass, you used my German instructions as a cover paper!” He flips it and lets out an exasperated sigh. “And the English side is ruined as well! Fucking hell!”


	4. Barbie and Ken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad to tell you that NikoNotHere had to retreat from this project. It was still fun to have at least one chapter from you and feel free to enter the shitshow whenever if you feel like so. <3
> 
> I pondered for a while whether I should continue this as a co-writing project with someone else or not, and I decided in the end that as I have already set the horrible beast loose, I'm responsible for it. So, the story goes on and I'm trying to loosen my perfectionism mind and just have fun.
> 
> This chapter - or more like so, the whole fic - is very, very, very stupid, but I appreciate everyone who still follows the story. I'm also open to any ideas if there's something you'd like to see. 
> 
> Hopefully this shitshow will cheer you up during these times. I admit that at least I laughed a bit too loud at my stupid jokes in this chapter.

As we eat with the guys we can now hear it’s silent in the infamous guestroom toilet - sounds like New York City _will_ sleep, after all.

Paul, munching a mouthful of macaroni and minced beef sauce, mumbles: “I hope he learned his lesson this time…” He takes a sip of water and continues: “Ruined my freaking cat tree project, fucking hell… he never learns.”

“Well, he at least tried his best,” I try to defend the poor man who has been insulted enough. “And most importantly, the toilet can still be saved even though how stupid idea it was to paint it completely. But no can do anymore.”

We keep having dinner in silence, Richard rubbing the extra paint from the toilet like a maniac. I bet there won’t be anything left from the precious nail polish that seemed to be so important to him - suddenly, I start to I feel sorry for him, so I stand up and go to check how’s it going.

“Wie geht’s?” I ask from the doorway.

Richard turns to me and wipes sweat from his forehead with his sleeve - and yes, I can see his nail polish is totally ruined. “Well, under these circumstances pretty ok, I guess.”

“You can come to eat with us, it’s not a big deal,” I say, pity in my tone. “We still have the main toilet, this one doesn’t have to be completely ready yet. The others have finished their work today, so we can relax and continue tomorrow. There’s still plenty of time.”

The guitarist looks at me and raises his eyebrow. “Should I be… worried? Is there a prank Paul is going to play on me if I come? Or has he poisoned the food or something?” He doesn’t sound convinced - plus, he seems to be still so embarrassed about his bandmates’ mocking that he prefers staying alone.

I sigh and shook my head. “There’s nothing hidden in this, I just thought you should maybe come to eat. It’s been a long day.” Then, I remember I haven’t asked about the concert idea from him. “Plus, there’s one thing I must discuss when we all are together at the same table.”

“O...kay?”

“You don’t have to be worried, it’s nothing bad. You’ll hear soon,” I state with a smile.

Hesitantly, Richard leaves his paints and the disaster area - I can’t help the thought flashing in my head that yellow caution tape would suit perfectly here. 

Paul turns to look at his fellow guitarist when he comes to the kitchen, his head bowed. “Oh, there you are! We missed you,” Paul coos and smirks. “You know what Reesh? James Hetfield just called and told us Metallica has a new album coming that is inspired by you. How flattering! You wanna hear what it’s called?”

“Shut up,” Richard mutters behind gritted teeth and takes a plate, about to take food and forget this whole mess.

“It’s called…” Paul starts when he stands up ceremonially, “ _Master of Toilets’_.” 

Till was just sipping his drink and now he bursts into laughter so hard there’s whiskey coming out of his nose. 

“Entschuldigung…” the singer mumbles when he goes to the toilet, trying to soothe himself, but failing miserably.

Flake and Paul share a high five. “That was a good one,” the keyboardist says, being the only one who can stay deadpanned. 

I also have to admit the joke was pretty funny, but I don’t want to upset Richard any further - the man has suffered enough already. “Maybe we could decide we are not talking about the toilet incident anymore, okay?” I suggest, but not very convincingly as I have a hard time hiding my giggles as well.

Till is soon back and sits back by the table. He points at Paul with a fork and laughs from the bottom of his belly. “That… that was a good one…” He shakes his head. “‘Master of Toilets’… how… how did you come up with that?”

Richard sits by the table and starts eating, without saying anything.

“C’mon Reesh, you should be flattered Hetfield was inspired by your toilet art!” Paul still tries to get attention to his joke he thought was the funniest in the universe.

Richard turns his murderous gaze to his fellow guitarist and hisses: “Didn’t she just say we are _not_ talking about that thing anymore…”

I clear my throat, trying to save this daycare before it will escalate too far. “Okay guys, we had something to discuss! Richard hasn’t heard about this yet.”

“Aa, yeah you must mean the concert idea, right?” Schneider asks. “Did you decide anything about it yet? Am I still supposed to play with the djembe?”

Paul stops for a second. “What… concert idea?” He turns to me and to Richard’s relief, forgets his bantering, at least for now. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“I told you, but you were too busy with your _damn_ coffee you might have ignored me,” I state purposefully bitterly.

Paul glances at Richard and hopes his fellow guitarist doesn’t ask anything further from the coffee - it was his gift, not meant to be shared with _anyone_.

Richard doesn’t notice anything though, he just asks while concentrating on his plate: “I haven’t heard about that idea either.”

“So basically, we were thinking with Ollie and Flake in the garage that since your stadium concerts are canceled for this year…”

Shadows flash on their faces - they had almost forgotten how disastrous this year has been for their careers. Behind all the fun and craziness, there still is the fact their whole concert summer is ruined and the fact still hurts.

I’m trying my best to cheer them up though and give them something else to think about for a change. “But I thought we could still have a private concert in my garage. I could ask a couple of our neighbors to join as well. What do you think?”

Richard shrugs. “Well, better than nothing, I guess. I just didn’t take my guitar with me, so how can we play?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Well, we have to discuss that part a bit…”

Now, Richard sets his knife and fork aside. “What do you mean?”

“Because we have almost all the instruments, just that we have only… one guitar,” I say and don’t want to meet his eyes. “Either another of you must play and another one do something else, or we try to get extra guitar somewhere. You can decide yourself, I trust you can do it.”

The two guitarists slowly turn their heads and look at each other straight in the eyes - like in an old western when two cowboys are about to start a duel.

This means _war_.

~***~

Later in the evening, we still haven’t settled everything about the performance - we desperately need something else to think before Richard and Paul will start a catfight over who can be the main guitarist of the spectacular garage concert.

It has started to rain and no one wants to go outside except for Ollie. He has disappeared somewhere again, but no one cares. At least he is not like Richard who just comes and goes how he wants, ending up being in another town if nobody stops him early enough.

We sit bored in the living room, me browsing my phone mindlessly.

“Hey, do I remember correctly that you say you have karaoke?” Till asks, breaking the silence.

I put the phone aside and look at the singer. “Umm, yes?”

“Wunderbar!” Till shouts unnecessarily loud and rubs his hands together. “How about us all singing together then?”

Schneider snorts. “C’mon, you can’t be serious…”

Before Till starts pouting though, Richard intervenes: “Hey, at least it’s a better idea than that stupid racing game. I’m in.”

The drummer gives the biggest eye roll ever. “It wasn’t stupid, you were just bad at it.”

“So, is everybody in for karaoke?” Till asks with puppy eyes. “Pleeeeease?”

“I guess we have nothing better to do,” I answer. “Let me just go and find the mics from the garage.”

As swiftly as I could, I come back, pleased to see the sofa hasn’t been set on fire yet. Till has dug out a bottle of Jägermeister and has poured us a glass - this entertainment seems to keep him busy enough from destroying anything. 

We all stand up ceremonially and raise the glasses, looking at each other in the eyes.

“Prost!” everyone yells in unison and we drink the bitter liquid - a sign to start a perfect quarantine karaoke night.

No one is surprised when Till wants to start. He chooses Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence and without asking from anyone anything, he starts singing immediately.

_“Words like violence_

_Break the silence_

_Come crashing in_

_Into my little world...”_

Richard stands up from the sofa when Till is deeply concentrated on his vocal performance. “I’m bored already. Please inform me when he is finished,” he states and goes most likely, for the 1000th time today, smoking. At least he doesn’t do it inside anymore.

“Hey, don’t you dare to disappear anywhere this time!” I yell. “I don’t want to go looking for you in the middle of the night with cats and dogs. Besides, you can’t miss our karaoke here, you already promised to participate.”

The guitarist stops and turns to me, putting his hand on his chest. “I promise beyond the grave of my beloved pet hamster that I’m not going anywhere this time. Just staying in the patio,” he announces, like he is making the most important vow of his life. “And I’m a man of my word, so I will sing, but I have one condition.”

“Which is?” I ask.

“Paul _must_ sing with me.” Richard turns to look at his bandmate and grins. He desperately wants to have his revenge from the “Master of Toilets” incident. “And _I_ will choose the song.”

I’m not convinced, but Paul shrugs and then goes after his fellow guitarist. “Whatever, at least if he’s not touching your bathroom anymore I’m willing to do anything.” 

When he is next to Richard, he assures: “I’ll make sure he is actually keeping his promise and not going to harass your neighborhood anymore.”

With Richard’s vague grunting they go, leaving me with Flake, Schneider, and the karaoke star himself. The drummer is bored to death and keeps browsing offers from new drumsticks from his phone. Flake doesn’t mind listening to Till though as he is so busy petting my cat that has found his new favorite place from the keyboardist’s lap. 

To no one’s surprise, Till is actually extremely good - maybe Schneider doesn’t like singing in general and Richard just got jealous. But soon, he will have his moment to shine.

I’m just not sure whether I want to hear it or not.

After 30 minutes - or 60? Who knows - too many drinks have been shared. I can’t deny the fact I’m getting tipsy. Even Flake has now gone to sing and I wonder whether I should show my musical skills soon as well.

_“Anarchy for the U.K._

_It's coming sometime and maybe_

_I give a wrong time, stop a traffic line_

_Your future dream has sure been seen through_

_'Cause I want to be anarchy_

_In the city!”_

“Jesus, is somebody torturing a cat here or what is this horrible noise straight from hell!” Richard shouts from the entryway when they are finally back with Paul. “Let me and Paulchen show next how it should be done.”

The truest punk rocker of COVID-19 quarantine at my house just flashes the middle finger while with his other hand he is holding his mascot, my cat. They are now inseparable. I hope the cat still likes me though when Flake is gone.

Richard kicks his boots out and comes to the living room with us. He smirks slyly and they giggle with Paul - they clearly have planned something for us.

“What?” Schneider asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Richard says innocently. “Just be ready to get your minds blown soon as me and Paulchen step to the stage.”

Or the “stage” is actually my fake oriental carpet from Ikea.

Anarchy in the UK comes eventually to its end. Flake bends his lanky body and screams from the bottom of his lungs:

_“Get pissed destroyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaa!”_

We applause politely for him - and secretly hope he won’t be taking the microphone anymore this evening. Richard finishes his beer and stands up, dragging Paul from his arm to the estrade as well.

“Okay, here comes something you have never seen or heard before, so brace yourselves,” Richard states, “close your eyes, please.”

“What the hell is it now?” Till who is sitting on a cushion on the floor, asks.

Paul and Richard share a meaningful look and Paul turns to look at their singer. “You will hear soon. Patience, Tillie.”

Without complaints, we have to close our eyes and anticipate what will be in the store for us.

A cheesy 90’s pop synth sounds breaks out of my ancient speakers, followed by the deepest lyrics made in the history of music:

_“Hiya, Barbie_

_Hi, Ken!_

_You want to go for a ride?_

_Sure, Ken_

_Jump in!”_

We open our eyes and share a meaningful look with the others. _It can’t be fucking true… what is going on now..._

But yes, all of this is very true. Richard continues his role as a bimbo girlfriend of his Ken.

_“I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie world_

_Life in plastic, it's fantastic_

_You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere_

_Imagination, life is your creation_

And Paul is more than eager to follow.

_“Come on, Barbie, let's go party!”_

Flake has frozen to his place on the sofa, squeezing the cat as tightly as he can. In the corner there is a huge ball, resembling Till - I’m not sure whether he is laughing or crying. Hopefully, he is still alive.

Schneider laughs, tears in his eyes, but he is also moving with the music and clapping along with the rhythm. “This is some next level shit!” he shouts when he looks at me. By the evening and the percentage of alcohol involved, the music has just gotten louder and louder. Thankfully there aren’t neighbors straight next to us.

Ollie comes back from his evening walk and when he opens the door and sees what is going on, he goes straight back to his tent instead of joining our karaoke fun - or “fun”.

“Hey Ollieeee, join us!” Schneider shouts, but the bassist is already gone.

So, it’s me and Schneider who concentrate on looking at the most bizarre duo we’ve ever seen in our life: two German middle-aged metal musicians, singing 90’s Danish cheesy pop together - and having the best time of their lives as both of them are moving their asses along the music, putting their souls into the performance.

Paul takes Richard’s hand and states the next lyrical masterpiece:

_“Come jump in, bimbo friend, let us do it again_

_Hit the town, fool around, let's go party!”_

It’s impossible to comprehend how they can do this without cracking up. Who knows whether they have been preparing for this for ages, secretly from their bandmates.

Schneider digs out his phone again. “Oh man, I have to film this.... Jens is not going to believe his eyes when he sees this shit…”

When Schneider starts filming, Richard states with an artificially sweet voice, produced by him holding his nose:

_“You can touch_

_You can play_

_If you say ‘I'm always yours’”_

Some juicy material has been produced definitely tonight.

We keep being so mesmerized by the performance that we don’t notice that it’s coming to its end.

_“Oh, I'm having so much fun!_

_Well, Barbie, we are just getting started_

_Oh, I love you, Ken”_

How sweet words: and how sweet it is when Paul entwines his arm around his fellow guitarist’s waist and places a kiss straight on Richard’s lips making Schneider to gag. 

Till has come back to life again - his eyes are glossy and he is smirking like an idiot. He missed half of the performance, but at least he had witnessed the juiciest parts with his own eyes.

Flake on the sofa has a blank gaze - he just stares at the duo in front of him but doesn’t react anyhow. “Is… is it over already?” he asks with a dull voice like he is somewhere far away in his own world.

Richard turns and flashes a smile so sweet it could melt this whole house in seconds. “You know what, we just got started, so get ready to have some more, baby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love karaoke and I'm mourning when I can't go to one, so I couldn't resist putting the guys to sing for us a bit.
> 
> To get into the mood of Richard's and Paul's duet, it's this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyhrYis509A


	5. Celine Kruspe-Landers

The fresh cool air feels heavenly on my face when I open the door and enter the patio. I close my eyes and hope I couldn’t hear it anymore, but it’s no use - of course when Richard and Paul have been set loose, nothing is stopping them anymore. 

“You can touch, you can play, if you say, I’m always yours!” Richard sings his lungs out. I have lost the count already how many times they have sung this cheesy song, but it seems like it is their new favorite now. I can only wonder why.

I feel nauseous - and not just because of tonight’s semi-heavy alcohol consumption.

“Has anyone kept a record how many times have they sung that song already?” Ollie asks like he has read my thoughts while he sits in the tent, a flashlight illuminating it just enough. Schneider and Till have joined there and they barely fit even though Ollie’s tent is bigger than a basic one. They are playing cards, most likely because they are willing to do anything besides witnessing the mellifluous performances of their guitarists.

I sit on the patio in front of the entrance of the tent so I could hear their discussions properly.

“If I counted correctly, they are now in the fifth,” Till says, sounding totally defeated. “Or sixth or seventh. Maybe even tenth. I have no fucking clue anymore.” He puts a card on top of the deck in the middle of them to continue their card game. “Ace of spades. Schneider, your move next.”

The drummer is not interested in the card game though but instead turns to look at Till with narrow eyes. “Just to remind you, whose idea this karaoke was in the first place, huh?” Schneider was the one who was right from the start against this and now he is so pleased when he has proven himself right. “What were you thinking? ‘Oh, what could ever go wrong when those two dorks are joining the fun’?”

Till grits his teeth and doesn’t meet their drummer’s eyes when he says: “I didn’t know it would lead to this. I just wanted to pass some time together, but they stole the whole show.”

“Well, let’s hope they’d pass out soon,” Ollie says and continues the game without Schneider even noticing it. “But perhaps we all can agree on that we’ll hide the karaoke mics immediately when they aren’t noticing.”

“Agreed,” we all say. 

It’s probably true that Ollie is the only sane one in this group. It’s even visible from his preparations for the quarantine: he has everything in his tent, even dried food and a tiny portable stove. If I had to choose with whom I would like to be lost in a random forest, it would definitely be Ollie. In Richard’s case, for example, he wouldn’t survive 2 hours without nail polish and hair products - and he would kill us all by complaining about getting mosquito bites to his ass or something.

I realize at some point that one of us is missing. “Umm, do you guys have any idea where is Flake?”

“No,” Till says and smirks at me. “But don’t worry, he’s not Richard who gets lost in the wilderness with diva clothes. Our Tastenficken can take care of himself, he’s a big boy.”

“Maybe he was just more clever than us. Not a bad idea indeed to flee from this madhouse,” Schneider says and throws a new card on top of their deck - queen of hearts. “By the way, where are you going to sleep Till if I’m sleeping here tonight?”

Till’s smirk fades. “Hey, don’t tell me I have to go with those two lunatics back inside!”

“Well, I asked first from Ollie, so your sleeping place is not my problem,” Schneider states.

Before this escalates, I interrupt: “Guys, I bet your guitarists aren’t gonna continue this forever, so we’ll just figure out something, ok?” I glance behind my shoulder at the door. “I can try to ask them to stop.”

“Mission impossible,” Schneider grunts. “But it would be great if that happened. If I have to listen to Barbie Girl one last time, I’ll start considering a lobotomy as it doesn’t sound so bad now.”

Without answering anything to the drummer, I head back inside and surprise surprise: there is our dream duo still singing. At least the song has changed, thank God.

“Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleoooooon!” Paul sings, precisely half a step out of tune, “you come and gooo, you come and goooo-OOO!”

And his companion continues more than eagerly: “Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreeeaaaamssss.”

Only the colorful make-up and hair are missing - maybe their next level will be having matching costumes, getting into their characters.

They next continue as a duet: “Red, gold, and greeeeeeen, red, gold and gr--”

I’m sure it’s close to impossible to get their attention by trying to talk sense, so without any prior warning, I close the tv.

“Hey!” a genuinely annoyed exclamation escapes from both of them and they turn to look at me. “What was that for?”

I cross my arms and on purpose, block their access to put the apparatus from hell back on. “It’s _my_ house and _I_ decide what we are doing here. It’s about time for you two to start listening to me!”

Richard throws his hands in the air. “We were in a good spot, don’t you dare to destroy our killing spree now!”

I raise a finger. “What did I just say!”

Paul looks at Richard with the eyes of _maybe we went too far_ , and luckily, they both remain silent - at least, for now.

“Listen you two dorks, have you noticed that all of your bandmates have disappeared? Do you have any idea why?”

“No,” they reply in unison with a voice of fake innocence.

I take a step forward and glance them both, trying my best to look intimidating. “Because _no one_ is volunteeringly willing listening to Barbie Girl millionth time in a row. Do you have any idea what kind of agony we have gone through tonight?”

“Hey, we changed the song already!” Richard tries to defend himself.

 _Facepalm._ “Just letting you know that Karma Chameleon is hardly any better than Barbie Girl.”

But Richard ignores me - a sly smile is forming on his face when he adds: “Besides, we were practicing for the future so you should be proud of us.”

“Practicing for what, exactly?”

“For the magnificent garage concert, of course,” Richard answers, his smirk only widening. “You wanted it yourself, so we have to rehearse, of course, y’know?”

 _Oh dear Christ, don’t you dare to tell me…_ “...Barbie Girl will be on your setlist?” I ask out loud the thing I was afraid of.

Richard and Paul look at each other - two partners in crime, definitely. “Who knows, the setlist is still a secret. We have some ideas for it though,” Paul says, “but you told yourself we should cooperate so I don’t get why you are so upset suddenly.”

I ran a hand through my face - this surely is _a mission impossible_ as Schneider said. “Well, I didn’t mean it like this, to be honest… I’d like to go to sleep without pop music blasting through my walls for the whole night.”

Richard comes closer to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Okay, okay, entschuldigung, maybe we went too far.” He tilts his head and tries to look cute. I might melt a bit, but I’m already too traumatized about Barbie Girl, so I refuse to give up now for his puppy dog gaze. 

“Let us finish this song and then one and then I promise we’re done. Deal?” Richard asks and tries to offer his hand.

I look at the hand and sigh. A tiny hesitation, but I’m too tired to start an argument so I shake it. “Deal, but if I hear that fucking Aqua anymore, I’ll throw your asses straight to the neighbor’s chicken coop.”

“Just trust us,” Paul says, the mischievous smirk never fading. “Sweet dreams!”

“Are made of this!” Richard adds, trying to sound so freaking witty.

“Just one last thing,” I say and step closer to Paul. “If you have forgotten mister Landers, you had an unfinished cat tree project.” I glance at the floor that still has the cat tree equipment and tools scattered all around. 

Paul just waves his hand. “Reesh promised to help me with it tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“Be happy!” Richard exclaims and they both laugh like maniacs. 

Shaking my head, I go to brush my teeth when Karma Chameleon continues in no time when permission has been granted.

_“Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon_

_You come and go, you come and go_

_Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams_

_Red, gold, and green, red, gold, and green!”_

I look at myself from the mirror, toothpaste on my lips. _Sigh. At least it’s not Barbie Girl._

I rinse my mouth as fast as I could and go by the door, wishing the other guys who are still playing cards good night. Then I head to the bedroom, keeping my fingers crossed to get at least a couple of hours of sleep.

On purpose, I decided to take the air mattress on the floor. The last thing I want when those two dorks decide to end the night is a fight between who can have the best sleeping spot. _Let them take the bed, I don’t care at all anymore._

I press the pillow on my ears even though it’s useless: of course, our dream duet is enjoying themselves fully with the last songs. I’m pretty sure the volume has been set even louder. _Great._

Just before I start getting annoyed again, like a miracle from heaven the music stops. Silence lands the house - the last time when it was this quiet was maybe before the chaos crew entered. 

It’s eerie: like stillness before a storm.

A hope inside me is ignited: _could this mean…?_ Maybe tonight, I will be able to sleep. _Finally, thank heavens._

But, with giggling and chattering a flute riff starts: they have chosen another song. I open my eyes and gulp when I realize what it is.

_Oh man, of course, it was too good to be true. I guess it’s no sleep tonight._

_Brace yourselves, here comes the syrup_ , I think by myself. _Could be this fucked-up duo’s catchphrase._

_“Every night in my dreams_

_I see you, I feel you_

_That is how I know you go on…”_

I grunt and can only wonder, where did this song come from. I could bet my arm it was Richard’s choice. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he is a helpless romantic.

A horrifying thought comes to my mind: maybe he gets so excited that tomorrow he will suggest we should watch Titanic and cry together because _open concepts mean open emotions as well, y’know?_

It’s only getting worse when the chorus breaks in. _Oh shit._ I can only hope the windows are not gonna shatter in pieces when they are almost screaming, trying to imitate the high-pitched voice of Celine Dion:

_“Neeeeaaaaaar, faaaaaaaar, whereeeeeever you aaaaaare_

_I believe that the heart does go ooooon_

_Once mooooore, you open the door_

_And you're here in my heart_

_And my heart will go ooooon and ooooooon!”_

And of course, they are out of tune, but neither of them seems to care. It’s their romantic moment - and they are still giggling.

 _At least it’s not Barbie Girl,_ I desperately try to console myself, pressing the pillow tighter against my ears. _At least it’s not the fucking Barbie Girl._

This must be the longest four and a half minutes of my life.

In the modulation part I’m sure I’ll have a migraine tomorrow as both of them are screaming their lungs out:

_“You're heeeere, there's nothing I fear!_

_And I know that my heart will go oooon_

_We'll stay forever this waaaay_

_You are saaaafe in my heart and_

_My heart will go on and ooooonnnn...”_

At that moment, I’m sure I have heard everything. Nothing will surprise me anymore, literally _nothing_. I don’t care anymore even if Celine Dion herself would step into my house and record a new version of “My heart will go on” with the guys.

This is totally fucked-up.

How long have they been here? Two days? And what we have already: a ruined toilet without a door, Till and Schneider fighting over who can sleep in poor Ollie’s tent and this bizarre new duo. Maybe when Rammstein retires Richard and Paul will go solo and entertain people in nursing homes.

_Dear Christ._

The song is finally over, but it’s far from being quiet.

“M-man, I-I love you so much,” Richard mumbles to his singing partner. He sounds over-emotional. “You are my best buddy, you should know it…”

“Man, how drunk you are,” Paul replies, imitating his bandmate’s hazy voice and chuckles. “Getting to that ‘I’m emotional, give me all the hugs in the world, pleeeease’ mode?”

But Richard seems to ignore his friend’s words. “One more song, pleeeeaaseee? It’s been ages since I had this much fun!”

“Noooope, we promised this was the last one, so let’s respect the owner of the house’s fish… umm… wish,” Paul says, and even though how hard he tries to sound sharp, the drunkenness is visible in his voice as well.

“Paulieee…”

“Let’s… let’s just go to fucking sleep finally, seriously,” Paul says and lowers his voice, but I can still hear it, “I’m sure she’ll kick us out soon if we are not starting to respect the rules. I… I don’t know about you, but at least I don’t want to spend the rest of the quarantine in our fucking... van.”

Then it’s a tiny moment of silence, followed by a thud, and then the door of the bedroom opens. I barely open my eyes, only seeing that Paul falls to the bed on his belly. Apparently, he doesn’t even bother to take his clothes off or brush his teeth. The karaoke has drained the poor man completely - and no wonder. Even the biggest stars need their beauty sleep.

It takes a good amount of time for Richard to come there as well, but finally, the door opens, not so discreetly and he stumbles into the room, trying to fumble something - a light switch perhaps?

As he proceeds he almost falls on me - he didn’t realize I was sleeping on the air mattress. “Oh, sorry, sorry,” he mumbles with a hiccup and then he giggles again. “Whoops…”

I point at the bed. “Paul is there, go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, o-of course… good night...”

With a loud noise, he stumbles his way there and within seconds a new duet starts: a choir of snores in beautiful unison. _How great._

I sigh and turn around in the mattress. I can now relate to Richard: it’s an uncomfortable mattress indeed. Maybe we have to figure out something else for the rest of the time.

My thoughts are interrupted when the main door opens and I hear someone taking his shoes off heading to the kitchen. 

_Who is it?_

I stand up from the so-called bed and not feeling sorry at all when the old wooden floor creaks, making a terrible noise along with the air mattress. Quite surely, those karaoke stars wouldn’t wake up even though I’d blast Norwegian death metal straight into their ears.

In the kitchen, there’s Flake with his favorite furry companion and a notebook. He raises his head when I arrive. “Guten Abend, or should I say, gute Nacht at this time of the day.”

“Evening, how are you?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. “Alles gut?”

He shrugs. “Pretty okay. At least the horrible noise is gone, so I guess Richard and Paul finally passed out. Did I miss something?”

I shake my head. “Well… let’s not talk about it now as the traumatizing event has already passed. We were wondering with the others where were you. What did you do during the meantime?”

“I just took a random walk around in the woods and got a bit lost, to be honest,” Flake says and stands up. He is heading for the stove where there is a kettle. “Tea?”

I sit down. “Yes, please.”

He takes a cup for me as well and pours water for us both before he joins me in the table and starts scribbling something to his notebook, taking sips of tea. 

We sit in silence for a while, only the purring of the cat and a faint sound of a pen can be heard. It’s relaxing compared to what it was only minutes ago.

I nod at the notebook and ask: “May I ask what are you writing?”

Flake puts the pen aside but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Well, I decided to write something about this quarantine experience as there’s plenty of time now. Maybe I’ll publish it later, who knows.”

My curiosity is ignited. “Can you read some parts, please?”

Turning timid, the keyboardist runs a hand through his hair. “I-I don’t know, it’s just a draft…”

“Pleeeease?”

But he can’t resist my puppy eyes. “Ok, ok, maybe I can read some parts of it. I just apologize for the quality beforehand…”

He clears his throat and starts reading: “If someone would have said at the beginning of 2020 that I will be stuck with my bandmates in some random person’s house singing karaoke and goofing around for 14 days, I would have laughed my ass off. Maybe even suggested for that person to go to check his mental state. Even the thought was ridiculous.

But against all odds, here I am: drinking tea with a cat while writing this, keeping my fingers crossed that our guitarists won’t be set loose again. 

Before today I didn’t even know a song called “Barbie Girl” existed, and to be honest, I would have lived a perfectly happy life without the knowledge. But every day, you learn something new, right?

What I still haven’t realized is that we even kinda promised to perform a garage gig now when our tour is ruined for this year.

I can see the flashing lights in front of my eyes: _Europe Garage Tour 2020. Remember to bring your own facemask and beer as it’s gonna get epic as fuck._

I have no clue should I be excited or totally terrified for all of this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flake's last sentence summarizes my feelings for this fic perfectly.
> 
> Reference materials for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmcA9LIIXWw, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVLzWqITfMs
> 
> Thanks for reading, I love you all. <3


	6. Cat trees, treadmills, and poetic art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another episode of "I have no idea what this shit is", here you go!

“Insert the cat in a screwdriver after you have attached the fur,” Richard reads out loud from his phone and scratches his chin while Paul stares at him murderously. “There must be something wrong, maybe the translator has some difficulties with Swedish...”

“We could have had instructions in some language we’d understand instead of using a fucking Google Translator,” Paul states with a tone of pure bitterness, “but _someone_ , who was too eager to express his inner artist, managed to ruin _both_ English _and_ German sides so here we are.” He throws his arms in the air. “It’s your responsibility to solve this problem, you dumbass!”

I stalk their argument in silence from a corner. It’s maybe difficult for them to admit that a) the sensitive guitarist hands weren’t made for building stuff b) they are too stubborn to give up and ask for help from someone who actually would know what he was doing. Last evening’s sensitive duet with sweet words has changed into this constant catfight once again. Their moods change more rapidly than a teenager girl’s while having period.

Richard sighs and puts the phone aside. “Didn’t we already agree we are not talking about the bathroom anymore? Nothing was irreversibly ruined and I already apologized. Besides, I’m here just volunteering to help you, so shut up.” He takes the leaflet back, being a real Sherlock Holmes solving the enigma of the cursed cat tree. “Let me try the Finnish side then.”

“Oh c’mon, you can’t be serious, that’s even more impossible!”

Ignoring Paul, Richard starts to spell a language he realizes at first sight it’s straight from hell: “Va… roitus: sisält… ää pieniä osia… what the hell does it say.” He turns the paper in his hand, making it sure it’s not upside down as the words are completely unfamiliar. But no, it’s correct. “Ei alle... 3-vuotiaille,” Richard reads the bizarre text with an even more bizarre accent and then types the sentence in the translator.

“Heads up, the petite children parts of 3 years of old,” the robotic voice reads. At least the algorithms tried.

When Paul sneers, about to start lecturing his fellow guitarist once again, Richard throws the cursed leaflet away and clears his throat. His cheeks are reddening a bit as nothing seems to work and Paul is getting angrier and angrier. “Okay, okay, maybe we’d just… try to figure this out without instructions. Can’t be that difficult. We can handle this.”

Paul grits his teeth and curses in silence. Then, he surrenders and takes a screwdriver in his hand. “Okay, mister ‘Bob the Builder’ from what are we starting then?”

Taking a panel, covered with fake leopard fur into his hands, Richard looks thoughtful. “Maybe we’ll try to attach this to... somewhere.”

It’s so difficult not to intervene, but I have decided they can solve this out themselves. I hope that after this, they start appreciating the hard workers who build their impossible stages without any instructions - even Finnish ones - more.

Shaking my head, I leave the disaster: at least, anything irreversible _shouldn’t_ happen and this should keep them busy for the rest of the day.

This morning, we woke up to rain so outdoor activities are now if not impossible, at least very unpleasant. Till and Schneider have enjoyed their “day-off” by reading: Till some highly inspiring grotesque German poetry book with silhouettes of naked women on the cover and Schneider a book called “Mastering your rudiments”. Flake is in the garage with Ollie, the latter teaching the keyboardist how to use the treadmill while playing. The bassist had once again woken up at six am, never skipping his exercises and yoga before starting the day. It had been a tight night for him as neither Schneider nor Till wanted to sleep in the house in the cacophony of the beloved guitarists, so all three of them had tried to fit in Ollie’s tent. Flake had been lucky enough to come back from his walk so late he didn’t have to enjoy the karaoke and still had a chance to sleep on his sofa with the cat.

Richard’s and Paul’s day didn’t have a strong start: desperately hiding their hangover neither of them hadn’t said anything before they had gotten a good dose of coffee. Now, when they are busy with the cat tree and not bothering anyone besides themselves, the stillness is back in the house. Most importantly, the karaoke machine and mics had disappeared this morning, I noticed. Maybe the reason why Ollie woke up that early was that he had buried the apparatus straight from hell to the backyard. Who knows, but I bet no one will miss the torture machine anymore - except for Richard and Paul who’d probably start complaining immediately when they notice. But now, it’s time to relax.

I sit by the kitchen table with Till who doesn’t even seem to notice me. “So, any ideas for the concert? When do you want to hold it? Just asking so I could send the invitations to the neighbors soon.” Like anyone in the house, I also need something useful to do.

“Whenever you want,” he says with a distant voice, not letting his intensive eyes drop from the text. He mouths some poems in silence and smiles by himself. “That’s a good one,” he mumbles.

_Are you even noticing I’m here or are the kinky poems more important?_ I almost ask out loud, but the so-called discussion gets interrupted when Ollie and Flake come back inside, chattering with each other surprisingly much.

When they reach in the kitchen Flake looks drained and sweating while Ollie has a boyish glimmering in his eyes.

“Wasn’t that fun!” the bassist exclaims and claps his hands so even Till has to stop reading and raises his head from the book. We share a look with him. _The man actually… is capable of being loud and excited about something?_

Flake sits down for a second and sighs, wiping sweat from his forehead with a napkin. “Well, there are many things I consider ‘fun’ but that wasn’t one of them.” He then stands up something in his mind and goes to the cupboard. He turns to us with a horrified look though after he opens it. “Where’s my... Jägermeister?”

No one admits anything and Ollie starts babbling: “But you did so well Flake! We have to be prepared with the treadmill if we want to be perfectly fit in the concert.” He turns to me and Till. “I also got a new idea!”

Boy, this quarantine must get on the poor bassist’s nerves as well. And still, in the background Flake tries to ask, his voice now louder: “Till, don’t you dare to say you’ve hidden my Jägermeister or even worse, drunken it!” This is getting serious now.

“Ok, carry on,” Till says and tries to hide his amusement while Flake walks demonstratively to the bathroom and closes the door with a loud slam. It might be the case that soon, Richard has to hand over the diva crown to their keyboardist.

Schneider who has been lurking in the shadows has taken a beer and comes with us. “What’s the hassle here?” He turns around and looks at the bathroom door. “And what happened to him?”

“We practiced our performance in the garage with Flake while I got an idea how we could pass time,” Ollie answers. Then he lowers his voice. “But Till honestly, did you take his Jägermeister?”

“I can pass time perfectly like this, thank you,” Till says and moves his gaze back to the book. “And for the Jägermeister: maybe I took it, maybe I didn’t. Last night was long after all, so who knows what happened. Maybe the two karaoke stars drunk it and that’s why they had a horrendous hangover.”

Schneider shakes his head. “Jesus, guys why are we like a kindergarten…” He refuses to admit he’s a core member of this kindergarten as well. “But what were you about to say, Ollie?”

“We could have days for everyone when they can come up with whatever they want to do together. Like arranged activities for evenings so it’s not just chores or Reesh and Paul stealing the show anymore.”

“We are not in a children’s summer camp, we don’t need arranged activities,” Schneider snorts.

“Well, I think it’s worth trying at least. And when Reesh and Paul are not included in setting activities we could do something meaningful and entertaining to pass the time,” Ollie says and starts calculating. “So, if we are on day three now, it’s twice for everyone and the last day could be the concert.”

I shrug. “Sounds good to me. But what are we going to say when the guitarists notice they have been excluded from this masterplan of arranged activities?”

Ollie grins mischievously. “Simple: we just don’t tell them. They are too busy at teasing each other so I’m sure we can manage perfectly well.” 

Schneider sips his beer and mouths _yeah whatever_ while no one else says anything _._ I wonder should I go to check Flake in the bathroom who still hasn’t come out. 

“So, who wants to start, does anyone have any ideas about what we could do tonight together?” I try to ask.

“I have,” Till says immediately even though he was at first so sure he can pass time by himself. 

Schneider has a slightly horrified look. ”...which is? You promised earlier that no karaoke anymore….”

Putting a hand on his heart Till says with a dramatic voice: “No karaoke. You’ll see in the evening.” He then turns to me. ”Just a couple of things: do you happen to have a large white bedsheet and Christmas lights? And can I steal a couple of branches from your garden?”

“Well… I guess... so.” I don’t even dare to ask, why.

“Gut,” he finally states and proceeds with his book a content smile sporting on his face. 

Mysterious. At least if it’s not “make your own sex toys with Till workshop” it should be fine.

Maybe.

~***~

The rain refuses to stop: it’s making the air chillier and chillier when the day turns into an evening.

“What the hell is so special he had to put us wait outside?” Richard asks and pouts, moving restlessly to warm up his shivering body. He is bitter when he didn’t fit in Ollie’s tent with the others.

“Till has something for us and he wanted to prepare in peace, so we must follow the man’s wishes,” Schneider says, careful not to reveal anything about the ”arranged activities plan” we discussed earlier. They kill time by playing cards with Ollie - maybe the same mindless game they played when they wanted to be distracted from the guitarists’ karaoke.

“Better to be a fucking good one then. I at least hope he hurries up,” Richard says and lights up a cigarette with his shaking hands. “I wish it could be a warm dinner. We’d deserve it after this, but I bet it’s just something dull only Till think is freaking witty.”

“Patience, my dear,” Paul says. “Maybe he has some epic surprise waiting for us like last evening.”

“But it’s still so fucking cold…” Richard keeps whining. ”And wet…”

“Maybe you should learn to put some proper clothes then,” Schneider states and hopes the diva would finally shut up. “Should I knit you a scarf next time so you could cover your poor freezing ass with it?”

Muttering something by himself, Richard surrenders and sits on the patio. He keeps smoking, eyes fixed at the distance.

Minutes go by in silence when the door opens, followed by a cheerful shout: “Okay, come in!”

We all step into the living room that now has an entirely different atmosphere. It’s just a tiny bit ruined by the cat tree in the corner though that resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa. At least it’s not anymore scattered in pieces on the floor and it has to be admitted the guitarists at least tried even though the outcome is… well, it is now what it is. In the air, there’s a smell of overly sweet incense, like in some cheesy hippie shop.

Someone whistles and whispers: “Ok, didn’t expect this…”

But best - or the worst, it’s difficult to define - is Till standing in the middle in spotlights: now I know why he wanted a bedsheet and branches. He looks like a Greek god but with the style of Monty Python.

I recognize my Christmas lights that illuminate a sign on the wall, saying with neat handwriting: 

_A night of poetry mit Herr Lindemann_

“Jesus, all of that waiting and freezing because of some… poetry,” Richard says and glares at his friend, now being so proud in his role. ”Should have known it... Why are you dressed in a bedsheet?” I bet in secret he wishes this was just a joke and there soon would be that hot meal he’d been dreaming of the whole evening.

”Oh, mein Freund you don’t get it, don’t you?” Till says and only inches away from Richard’s face clarifies: “Not just any poetry. It’s a special _private_ session of art.”

While Richard just keeps blinking his eyes and muttering something by himself, Till gestures at six pillows on the floor. “Please, meine Freunde, sit down.”

Instead of stew and potatoes, each of us gets a steaming mug of something I don’t recognize. It smells good though - a little bit sweet and minty.

“What is this?” Flake asks, suspicion in his voice when he sniffs the mug. “Are you trying to poison us before you even start?” The unsolved disappearance of the Jägermeister still bugs him.

“It’s just herbal tea,” Till says. “To make you relaxed and open-minded.”

“And it includes what, exactly?” Flake tries to ask but gets cut out.

Till raises his hands in the air, like summoning gods for this awesome session in my living room. “When a microorganism thrives, humanity must unite and stay sane. We are a family, so we shall start.”

Everyone looks at each other with puzzled looks - apparently, that was the first poem. Hopefully, Till doesn’t get too excited of this so he would speak like that for the rest of our days together.

“Riddles of you will be revealed. What you must do, my friends, is to answer who I am talking about. Ready to accept art into your heart and soul?”

Some muttering and snorts saying _do we even have a choice_ and then, Till starts reading with a theatrical voice:

“Lungs black as the feathers of a raven.

When my bodily remainings are buried,

_Nicotiana tabacum_ will thrive.

Who am I?”

Paul laughs out loud and claps his hands when Richard looks at the floor, his grip from the mug tightening. 

“That’s an easy one. It’s of course _you_ , Richard,” Paul exclaims and pokes his fellow guitarist’s side. “Even Till’s poetry is referring that you should probably cut down that smoking.”

“Have to admit that was quite creative,” I say and wonder when Till even had time to write this stuff. I thought he’d be reading that weird book the whole day.

“Hey, I don’t even smoke that much anymore, that’s not fair!” Richard tries to protest but to no avail.

“Boys, alles gut, Paul was correct,” Till says. “One point for him.”

Richard snorts. “Since when was this a contest?”

Before anyone can say anything, Till continues with the next poem:

“A man always in the shadows,

Full of surprises,

A tree trapped in the body of a man.

Who am I?”

“That’s easy,” Schneider says. “It must be Flake.”

The keyboardist almost spits out the sip of tea he just took. “What the hell, I’m not a tree!”

“Could it be… Ollie?” I guess and Till nods, looking pleased.

The bassist doesn’t say anything for his poem though. He just looks thoughtful while staring at the wall a hand under his chin. Sometimes it’s close to impossible to get what he thinks about all of this. Maybe he started to regret his suggestion of “fun activities together”.

I guess I earned a point or something and then Till has another poem in his never-ending stash:

“The _‘lil shit’_ is my second name,

But I’m more bark than bite.

A midget, elf and underneath maybe, a sort of a musician when I feel like it.

Who am I?”

“‘lil shit that’s obvious. It’s Paul,” Richard states with a pleased smile and laughs out loud. “‘So-called musician’ that was a good one Till.”

Paul snorts. “Seriously, get some new ideas for your jokes. Just to remind you that I’m 173 cm so you aren’t much taller even!”

“Depends who measures,” Richard says and lowers his voice.“For me you’ll always be the ‘lil shit’ no matter how hard you’d try to say otherwise.”

It’s Paul’s turn to start pouting while Richard is happy to get his avenge. There’s no doubt: the two dorks share a love-hate relationship. 

Till puts his hands behind his back and starts pacing around when he raises his voice for the next poem:

“Walking, walking, and more walking,

‘til the universe will suck me into a black hole,

Or turn me into a disco ball.

Who am I?”

No one says anything. Flake though has a tight expression which probably might mean he is quite sure who Till is talking about. 

When no one says anything, Till reveals: “A hint: it’s you, Flake.”

“Oh, how brilliant and creative you are. Good job! I’ve always known you have it,” Flake says with pure sarcasm in his voice. “How could you ever come up with that, hmm?” He probably just wants this to be over soon so he could spend time with his notebook and my cat.

Till stops in front of the grumpy keyboardist - they still have some unsettled business together. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t appreciate my poetry but what about this?”

When Flake tries to say something against Till already smirks and in the depths of his toga, he digs up a familiar object. “Surprise!” Till exclaims and hands the keyboardist the long lost bottle ceremoniously. “Your Jägermeister came back.”

Flake’s eyes lit up and his jaw drops open. “W… what the hell?” He takes the bottle and looks alternately at Till and the Jägermeister. “This... still doesn’t explain did you drink it or not.” He opens the lid and sniffs it, just in case it wouldn’t be just water.

“See, I’m a man full of surprises,” Till says, still not admitting anything. “Aren’t you gonna give your hero a sip at least?”

Flake sighs, but hands the bottle. Even though how much they’d act like they hated each other, the solidarity exists.

When Till is ready he gives the bottle back to its rightful owner who is now careful not to let it out of his sight again. 

“So, the next poem…”

When Till’s focus is again in his art instead pretending to be a magician, I see Richard leaning towards Flake and whispering: “By the way, I forgot to say it was me and Paul who drank it. Didn’t know it was yours, sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Till's poetry night is loosely inspired by one actual poetry night I ended up being in ages ago. It was some random, a bit classy, "club" in an attic where we went with my sister and her friend. I remember there was some guy who was yelling bizarre poems about a hardware store. No one understood anything, but still everyone tried to act it was so artistic and sophisticated. It was hilarious.


	7. It's the World's Coffee Day Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! In case someone is still interested, this stupid story is continuing, woohoo!
> 
> I was stuck with this for a looong time, but I figured out finally how to continue. It changes now, at least for this chapter, to Flake's POV because I just felt like I needed something different to keep my motivation for the fic. Hopefully it's not too confusing.  
> This was written very quickly when I was very tired so please, excuse me, but I just needed to get this out. I had fun, at least. 
> 
> Thanks for Hannaesthetic for giving me the idea for Paul's fun activity!

_From Flake’s COVID-19 diaries (author’s note: not to be mistaken on “diarrhea” even though Paul’s and Richard’s cooking has been pretty experimental. Well, one evening my stomach was sick and I was worried if I had to call an ambulance, but it was maybe because I ate cat food by accident. I couldn’t help it, the chicken fillet looked so tasty.)_

Waiting. Killing time. More waiting. Richard smoking. Paul drinking coffee. Them fighting. Till being his weird self (still looking for sex toys). Repeat. That is how my life at the moment looks like.

I have lost count of days already, but what I know is that a lot has happened: Richard ruining our fan’s toilet with his art skills, Till’s poetry that made us all speechless, concert planning, and even Ollie’s home exercise the other day. Don’t you worry dear reader though, I haven’t completely lost my mind and started exercising during quarantine times. I was forced to, but I assure you, I will never do that again. In the news they are saying that maybe after the quarantine times people will start exercising more at home, but I’m proud to say, I will be an exception. I am a true rebel.

After the rainy and gray days it's finally sunny and I, Richard and Ollie are spending our time on the patio, doing nothing. Our host is in the backyard guiding Till and Schneider with the garden work. I’m not sure what she thinks of us. At least she has joined all the activities we have done and prepared for our greatest concert this far. The invitations have been sent. I saw a glimpse of them.

_Welcome to house number 329 to see a private concert of my German visitors next week’s Sunday at 8pm. Remember to bring your mask and keep the 2m distance. Posters with autographs for the first ten people to arrive._

Yeah, we are supposed to have our first ever garage concert next week and the worst thing is that I don’t even have a costume yet. I’ve seen a glitter jacket in our host’s wardrobe that I will steal one night, that’s for sure. Well, at least I have even practiced with my so-called keyboard. Pretty groovy effects it has, has to be admitted. The setlist is going to be pretty interesting and the overall setting, well… intimate, at least. In recent days, Till has been trying to figure out how to have a proper fireshow with these limited resources, but so far, to no avail. He asked if there would have been leftover fireworks from last New Year, but to his surprise, our host hadn’t stored them - or didn’t admit it, at least. Rumors tell that our singer planned even to set the cat on fire, but I guess our host might have something to say about it before it happens. I will protect the kittie ‘til the end, that’s for sure. We have tortured chickens in our past and that’s enough for me.

Richard next to me smokes (can you imagine?) and lets out a heavy puff that stays in the air, his eyes fixed on it. “I’ve seen you with that notebook a lot lately,” he says. “What are you writing there?”

I shrug. “Kind of a diary about our experiences here. Maybe I’ll publish it one day, who knows.”

Our guitarist turns to me with a worried expression.“Just don’t reveal anything about the toilet incident, please,” he insists. “I don’t want my image to be ruined, y’know?” Then, he moves his eyes away and leans back in his chair. “And for the karaoke you could claim it was Paul who wanted to sing “Barbie Girl”, not my idea at all. I was forced.”

Those are promises I can’t make, so instead of replying anything, I move my focus to my notebook, wondering what things are worth mentioning. What about the first poem ever written about me, should I include it?

_Walking, walking, and more walking,_

_‘til the universe will suck me into a black hole,_

_Or turn me into a disco ball._

_Who am I?_

Unfortunately, I haven’t even had a chance to walk so much as I used to: to enjoy the new smells and senses in foreign countries; buy something weird as a souvenir for my family that ends up in the trash. I have to admit, I miss that freedom, but maybe not the kitsch so much. I miss being in concerts late, freaking out my bandmates. It’s not my fault I get lost easily. 

I scratch my chin and wonder what I should tell in this book if it ever gets published. Maybe yesterday’s events are worth mentioning as the quietest of us was on fire, in his element.

We all had gathered in the front yard. Earlier, Ollie had told us to put some comfortable clothes - and of course, it doesn’t even need to be mentioned who hadn’t followed the order.

“Richard, what on earth are you wearing?” Ollie had asked when we all had been ready. Shaking his head, he had sighed. “Jesus, you can’t exercise in leather pants and boots.” I had seen how he had been glancing at our guitarist from head to toe. He hadn’t said anything about Richard’s bright hippie shirt that clearly wasn’t made for jumping around in the front yard or whatever kind of torture our bassist was going to put us through.

Of course, so proud of his infamous fashion sense, Richard hadn’t listened and as Ollie isn’t a man who asks twice, he had commanded us to warm-up by running around the house for five times as fast as we could. In the last lap, I had almost fainted already and been sure I’d soon get a heart attack. Even Richard in his leather pants and boots had been faster than me. That moment gave me flashbacks from my childhood when I always tried to come up with the most imaginative excuses ever to skip the sport classes. I always envied girls who could just say they had period when we were supposed to have a swimming test. For some reason, it never worked when I tried to claim I was bleeding too.

But coming back to yesterday, I remember vividly how stars were dancing in front of my eyes when Ollie had commanded us next to make push-ups. I did only one before I collapsed to the ground. My thin arms like wooden sticks weren’t made for it. I’m a _Ficken_ , not a sports guy.

After that, I excused myself, claimed I really had to take a dump and went inside. A masterplan. Not knowing how much time I had spent there, I went back outside only to see the guys were still exercising. _Damn,_ my plan hadn’t worked _._

When we were forced to do squats, we heard a loud tear and swearing: that moment Richard had learned why it wasn’t the best idea to exercise in tight pants. Points for him though for still continuing even though half of his ass was showing - we all know he often doesn’t bother to wear any underwear. I guess at least Paul was enjoying the view in secret.

Thank god that agony is now in the past. Reminding of it, I’m hurting in every muscle that is still left of my body after years of just being my lazy self.

Our host appears from the backyard where Till and Schneider are working on the garden again when the weather favors. “Everything good here?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I answer and flash a tiny smile I hope doesn’t look too crooked. “How are you?”

“All good,” she replies and just stands there, looking at the distance. Even though she has been nice to us, I can see she sometimes has this wistful look in her eyes. I have no idea whether she is hoping for us to leave already or not. Still plenty of days left.

Our tired laziness is interrupted when Paul calls us for a coffee inside. A couple of times we have asked him to deliver it to us, but as he refuses to be _eine Hausfrau_ , he says we have to move our asses and get our beverages ourselves.

So, our host calls Till and Schneider back from the flower benches and with greediness, we step in and take our coffees. Paul has made some chocolate chip cookies as well. Maybe I dare to take one even though I’m a bit worried about his cooking. 

I’ve always thought coffee tastes like cat piss, so one could wonder, why the hell I am still drinking it. I don’t know what to answer to that question - it’s just a bad habit, I guess. Just like I also often eat nuts before concerts even though they make my throat itchy. Maybe it helps me to distract from the stage fright.

Paul sits by the table with us. “So, I have an idea for an activity I want to do…” he announces.

Of course, we couldn’t keep this “arranged activities” only between us five as the original plan was, so the guitarists must be involved also. We have just strictly said no to karaoke. 

“We all drink a lot of coffee but don’t know so much about it,” he starts to explain his idea.

“So…?” Richard says and raises an eyebrow when he takes a bite from a cookie.

“So, I want to keep a lecture about _coffee_!” Paul exclaims and claps his hands. “I want each of you to know how awesome and healthy beverage it really is!”

Richard coughs and nearly chokes on his cookie. “With all the respect Paul, that is the most boring idea ever. We are supposed to be entertained, not back to school! Meh!”

Paul grunts in annoyance. “It’s not your business to complain about my ideas. Besides, how can you tell my lectures are boring when you haven’t even heard one yet?”

“Let the man have his lecture. Or does someone have any better ideas?” Till states and everyone remains silent when Paul is having a smug smirk on his face.

~***~

“So, coffee has its origins in Ethiopia. The guy who discovered our lovely little beans first was called Kaldi, the man would deserve a Nobel prize nowadays… Praise him...”

A clock on the wall ticks. One second turns into a minute slowly, like a snail. As Richard had said earlier, I feel like we are in school again. I check on our host who is sitting next to me and she looks like she is dozing on and off - no wonder.

But Paul surely is in his element. He has immersed so deeply into the world of his favorite beverage nothing will stop him anymore. 

“Did you know that the actual coffee cultivation trade began in Arabic Peninsula? When the quarantine is over we all should do a field trip there to see the origins of coffee!”

“No we didn’t know that,” Till replies and looks at his nails that still have some soil after they have been digging our host’s flower benches the whole day before this evening’s spectacle. “So interesting. Oh please Paul, tell me more.”

The coffee enthusiast doesn’t comprehend the sarcasm - his boyish eyes lit up even more and his voice gets louder and quicker by every new fact he desperately wants to share with us.

“Coffee made its way to Europe in the 17th century. Isn’t that exciting!”

“It sure is,” Richard replies and also looks at his painted nails. “Oh Paul, we beg you to tell us mooooore, we can’t continue living without this information you are giving us.”

This sounds like it’s going to be a competition of sarcasm - but of course, Paulchen doesn’t care. All these years I’ve known him he hadn’t cared less what others think of him. He just keeps doing his own thing -in a good and a bad way.

Paul bounces around like a bunny in front of his awesome Powerpoint slides. We are given a lot of links to check afterward in case we want to know more about coffee. I guess we will be so bored we’d even check those and compete against each other who knows the most about coffee.

After we have learned how coffee moved to America, five historical attempts to ban coffee, and the correct way to store coffee, we move to Paul’s favorite part: health benefits.

He raises his finger and smirks when another slide appears on the screen again. “But the best thing about my precious is that coffee consumption may offer protective benefits for post-menopausal breast cancer. Consumption of four cups per day was associated with a 10% reduction in postmenopausal cancer risk”, he quotes straight from his favorite website that is like a Bible for him. It’s nice for the women but I don’t get what this has to do with us. “And not only that, a study from the International Agency for Research on Cancer looked at over 500,000 people, and found that coffee drinking was associated with reduced risk for death from various causes.”

“So, you are claiming with coffee you can live forever?” Till deadpans. “We could skip death just by drinking a lot of coffee and you are using yourself as a test subject?”

I can’t help but to think of how a world with coffee zombies would look like. It reminds me of our younger days with Feeling B and how nightmarish it was if we happened to run out of coffee. It’s weird to think how missing a cup of a certain drink could turn a man into a monster so quickly. Seriously, we were afraid to even approach him if we knew Paul was having withdrawals. At least nowadays we always keep sure on tours we have enough coffee for him even in countries where it isn’t consumed so much.

Paul isn’t pleased for this constant bantering about his lecture - he takes this extremely seriously. “Of course, I’m not thinking about skipping death! Just that we all would live a longer and healthier life with coffee. Don’t we all want that?”

“To be honest, I’d just want a cup of black coffee with a smoke right now. And I don’t know if it would be good even to live forever. Enjoy the moment, y’know?” Richard says and obviously, Paul isn’t pleased about that dry statement.

Paul crosses his arms and frowns. “Why do you always have to ruin everything I try to do? Why do you have to be so stupid?”

“Just because I enjoy teasing you _Paulchen_ way too much,” Richard says and flashes a smirk. “And you won’t get rid of me, especially if we are going to live forever as you claim. Can’t wait for that, so just give me that damn cup of coffee already.”

“I didn’t claim that, you understood me wrong on purpose!”

So here we go again: not a single day without those two annoying each other, but at the end of the day they still end up sleeping next to each other and giggling like school girls. 

No one says anything when they argue. I wonder now what Ollie, who prefers tea to coffee, thinks about all of this. He has remained silent the whole time.

Now when we know all of the health benefits we logically move to everyone’s favorite part: tasting different kinds of coffee brands. At least Paul has stopped his babbling for a while and Richard has given up teasing him, at least for now. I have no idea where all these samples came from, but I guess Paul has been swift at ordering online or alternatively, he emptied the poor neighbor’s stash. Without us not knowing which one is which brand, we rate them all even though giving ratings is difficult: they all are equally bitter cat piss to my taste. Well, maybe some of them are a bit more expensive cat piss, but anyway. 

I’m a bit sad I didn’t collect actual cat piss and include it to this tasting. Would anyone even have noticed anything? I have to try this next time.

Paul gathers our points and then it’s the moment of truth: the results.

“And the winner tonight is…” he announces and a horrified look flashes on his face, “Bellarom Gold from... Lidl.” He checks the paper in his hands and then looks at us. “Guys, what the fuck where you thinking? From all of these fancy coffees, the Lidl one was your favorite?” He shakes his head. “So uncivilized. You don’t understand anything.”

So, the triumph of the cheapest brand proves my theory right: they all are the same cat piss, no matter how much Paul or anyone else tries to claim otherwise.


End file.
